


The Informant

by A_Shields



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Character Death, Slow Burn, please see tw in chapter notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:13:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 59,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26203243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Shields/pseuds/A_Shields
Summary: It's been 7 months since Ben was forced to leave Walford in the dead of night after one of his and Phil’s jobs went even more tits up than usual. He’ll deal with the wrath of his family tomorrow, but tonight, he just wants to forget.But, when a hookup with a tall, dark stranger leads to Ben not being able to get him out of his head he finds himself in way deeper than he imagined. And when said stranger is as the forefront of Ben having to relive the most painful time in his life, he realises that he might not have to face all his demons alone anymore.
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 88
Kudos: 165





	1. Home Sweet Home

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so I honestly don’t know how I feel about this, for some reason I’m feeling anxious about posting it but it's been sat in my drafts for about a week and bugging me so I’m hoping letting it out in the world will give me some peace!
> 
> This is actually a part of a (quite long) chapter I've written that could potentially be another multichapter but like I said I was feeling weird about posting it and decided on doing it this way so I can continue if that's what people/ I want or it can stand alone. A bit unorthodox I know but I've found that anxiety calls for weird fixes!
> 
> Fair warning: there is some sexual content in this. It’s my first time writing it and I have no idea what possessed me to do it and its probably terrible so please be kind. I’m really nervous to post it and almost didn't but then I thought screw it- life’s all about stepping out of your comfort zone sometimes right? And if it’s really that bad I can always change my name and flee the country...
> 
> Oh, there's also quite a bit of swearing too.
> 
> Also the name is random as it stands but if I continue this it will make sense. (Sorry this is a complete mess)
> 
> Anyway, sorry for that nervous rant. I guess I had to get that off my chest. *Takes deep breath* thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy this (I’ve sold it really well I know).

A long, loud yawn rips from Ben as the taxi pulls up to the curb a few streets away from the square. He stands by his decision to not be dropped off at his house; Albert Square doesn’t usually see too much traffic and he wants his arrival to be as quiet as possible, plus, he could really do without his nosy neighbours curtain twitching at the presence of headlights in the middle of the night. But he’s absolutely knackered and is not looking forward to the walk to his house even if it is only short.

He gets out, paying the driver and collecting his duffle bag and suitcase from the boot, stifling another yawn as he makes his way to the Mitchell house. Sure, his flight was delayed and travelling is knackering at the best of times, but the second the plane wheels screeched, making contact with the tarmac at London City Airport he felt the same exhaustion that descended on him the moment he got off the plane from South Africa all those years ago creep up on him again. Home sweet home, ay? 

His delayed flight also meant that he had missed tucking Lexi in. Typical, the one thing he was looking forward to on his homecoming and he fucking missed it because some drunk tosser had to make a fuss at the runway declaring he’d had enough and wanted to get off. Don’t we all.

Once again, Lola was the world’s best mother, making up for Ben being the world’s worst father, telling him not to get Lexi’s hopes up by telling her he’d be home in time to put her to bed. _Just in case_ she’d said, like she knew. Lola always knows.

When he lets himself into the Mitchell house the place is silent, he’s been in Portugal for the last 7 months after one of his and Phil’s jobs went even more tits up than usual, and it looks like the house has been deserted since. A thick layer of dust coats every surface and a huge pile of unopened post litters the floor, he sees the bold red words FINAL DEMAND on a handful of the envelopes and flicks the light switch, nothing. He dumps his hold-all on the ground, sighing, that’s a problem for tomorrow.

Once he’s finally dragged himself up the stairs and into the shower, he breathes a sigh of relief. Finally he can wash off the smell of tuna from the guy sat next to him on the plane’s sandwich that he’s convinced he can still smell. What kind of prick eats tuna on a plane?

But when he turns the tap on he’s not greeted by the calming flow of scolding hot water, instead nothing comes out; the screeching of the tap filling the silence as he keeps turning it in the hope that water will suddenly come out of it. He remembers the final demands downstairs and realises the water must have been switched off too.

“Fuck” he breathes, realising what this means- he’ll have to go to Ian’s to shower. Shit, he really didn’t want the welcoming committee tonight. 

Someone must really be looking down on him because when he opens the back door of Ian’s the house is silent. He knows Lexi is asleep upstairs and Lola will be in too and he supposes he should say hi to the mother of his child so he makes his way upstairs quietly, the stairs creaking under him.

“Hello? Oh Ben, you scared the life out of me!” She whisper shouts, clutching at her chest with one hand and holding a bat in the other, maybe she’s more Mitchell than Pearce these days. Maybe she always was.

“Yeah sorry,” he whispers as he frees himself from the bone-crushing hug Lola quickly trapped him in, conscious of not waking his daughter. He pokes his head in her room and sees her delicate face illuminated by the soft pink glow of her night light, she’s sleeping, her face slack with a small smile at the corners of her lips, innocent and content even in sleep. She really doesn’t take after her dad, thank god.

His chest aches at the sight of her and he wants to reach out and hold her, wake her up and say ‘surprise! Daddy’s home!’ But she’s got school tomorrow, and if he does that that he knows that neither of them will get any sleep tonight.

Not that he plans on sleeping much anyway, he’s got bigger plans for tonight.

The second the job went wrong all those months ago he thought of Lexi. He knew he’d either be banged up or have to go on the run, either way he’d be away from his daughter for the foreseeable future and his entire body was overtaken by a panic he’d never experienced before. Even the slightest sign of him turning into his dad, of history repeating itself was enough to send Ben into a tailspin, which admittedly was counterproductive. But if you cut a Mitchell to the core you’ll see the words _self-sabotaging_ scrawled alongside _family_ and _honour._

In a miraculous turn of events Phil hadn’t ratted him out and it had only taken seven short months (that were actually really fucking long) for the coast to be clear for him to come home. Time away did him good, there’s no doubt about it, but being away from Lexi was absolute torture. If only he’d thought of her _before_ the job. If only he knew how to say no to his dad.

“She’s an angel, ain’t she?” Lola says serenely, pride evident on her face. Ben nods stiffly, he’s not sure he can say anything around the lump in his throat because he’s home and Lexi’s _right there_.

"Flight alright?” He doesn’t answer, instead blinking back his tears and clearing his throat louder than he expected but Lexi doesn’t stir. The responsible parent in him is glad he didn’t disturb her, but the Ben in him wishes it had woken her and he’d get to see her beautiful eyes in all their youthful, innocent glory.

“I’m gonna shower. Get the plane off me.” He forces out, hoping he can pass off the roughness in his voice as fatigue and not the true emotion that’s trying to fight it’s way to the surface. Lola nods and that’s that.

After his shower he slips quietly into his room, dressing quickly before Lola can poke her head in for a catch up. It may have been 7 months since he had disappeared into the night but the heartfelt chatter can wait until tomorrow. Besides, he knows Lola understands why he had to go. She was pissed, livid that her daughter would be without her father for a long time but she got it. She was probably just happy that he would only be gone for what would probably be a few months, not locked up for god knows how long. Phil got 7 years, and while he’s no angel, Phil hasn’t been done for manslaughter in the past. There’s no telling how long they would have left Ben to rot inside.

He somehow manages to slip downstairs unnoticed, someone really _is_ on his side tonight, and he catches a glimpse of himself in the kitchen door. He pops the collar of his jacket, scrutinising his reflection. Usual hangups aside, he looks clean and fresh and pretty damn fuckable even to his own critical eye. You know, if a deaf ex-con with an encyclopaedia of daddy issues is your kind of thing.

His mum wasn't home, which means she might be working at the Albert tonight. It’s a setback, Walford’s one gar bar that happens to be on his doorstep and a place where he can get free drinks is obviously his choice place for a hookup. But he can’t risk being reunited with his mum there for the first time in months and having some bullshit tearful reunion ruin his game.

He sighs as he walks past the Albert, mourning what could have been, giving it a wide berth in case his mum is in there and happens to catch sight of him through the window. It’s unlikely, but Ben’s not one to leave things up to chance. He huffs a laugh, his breath visible in the cold night air because that’s exactly what he’s doing tonight; going to a straight club on his first night back in Walford with no one lined up to help him forget. But he’s got his phone in his pocket, containing the modern-day version of the yellow pages of East London’s most fuckable gay bachelors. Contingency measures.

He continues the short walk between the Albert and E20, sighing as he stops in front of the door. It’s not ideal, and definitely not where he expected to be tonight, but it will have to do. He grits his teeth as he enters the club, wondering who of his lowlife neighbours he’ll run into first.

The Albert draws in people from all over London, whereas E20 is basically an over 18s Albert Square street party, with the occasional cluster of students from the nearby uni. He’s gotta hand it to the students though, he admires their talent for getting as pissed as humanely possible for fuck all money and doing whatever they want, ignoring all judgement. None of this ‘going for a quiet one’ shit, they live every night out like it’s their last; the classic 10 pints, a dodgy kebab and a souvenir traffic cone for good measure.

He supposes that that’s the one thing about uni life he would have been any good at if he went, if he hadn’t missed out on getting qualifications because he was in prison. It checks out really, he’d had his childhood brutally ripped away from him by a cruel string of one thing or another, why not continue that into his adult life?

He concludes that that’s what he does anyway, the drinking, the partying, the casual sex. Except he’s not an 18-year-old student, he’s a 24-year-old man with a daughter and a business, and hard as he tries, he can’t ignore the judgement that comes his way. Everyone thinking he needs to grow up, everyone whispering that it’s a hangover of being Phil Mitchell’s son, looking for love wherever he can get it even if it’s just for a night because he’s so starved of it. Or a result of losing the one man he’s ever loved so suddenly, so cruelly.

Sure, drinking himself into oblivion helps to dampen the noise and disapproving stares from his hypocritical neighbours, but it does nothing to silence the constant, condescending drone reminding him daily that _every one of them is right._

Ben’s been in the club for almost an hour and has hated every second. The music’s shit, everyone’s too tame and even his fourth double vodka and coke is too watered down to make the sight of Peter and Dotty swaying haphazardly and snogging each other’s face off bearable.

He’s about to call it a night, cut his losses and go home, or better still use his app to find someone to keep his bed warm and his heart cold, but then he sees him. If Ben ever listened to his heart anymore he’d know it skipped a beat but he doesn’t. Instead he licks his lips because this guy is _delicious_.

He’s tall, really fucking tall and thin but not skinny. Dark hair and ears that stick out and would look a little ridiculous on anyone else but he wears them like a fucking crown. His thighs look strong in his tight jeans and all Ben can think about is ripping them off him. His hair is styled to perfection and Ben can’t wait to run his fingers through it, pull it out of shape. All in all, the sight before Ben is downright erotic and he can already feel himself stirring in his trousers at the mere sight of this bloke.

Ben hardly has time to wonder if he’s straight before the guy turns to face him, probably aware that he’s being ogled by a stranger. He looks Ben up and down and Ben sees his grip tighten on his beer bottle and a subconscious bite of his lip. Yep. Definitely gay, or at least bi. Whatever this guy is, Ben's in.

They lock eyes and that’s when Ben sees the hunger in them; blown pupils and an unwavering stare, and even from this distance and poor lighting Ben can see that this guy has gorgeous eyes. They look to be a deep blue, or maybe green, it’s impossible to tell when the lights keep flashing but they’re magnetising, and Ben feels himself being pulled in.

He can’t ignore the way his heart skips a beat this time.

Ben nudges his head towards an empty booth in a quiet corner of the club, picking up on the sense that this guy probably doesn’t want to do this with his friends watching him. He dutifully follows and something flips in Ben’s stomach at his easy compliance.

“Hi” he says quietly and Ben needs to lean in to hear him, catching a better look at his eyes and _fucking hell_ they’re stunning. “I’m Callum.”

He’s nervous, really nervous and Ben could laugh at the fact that he’s picked the shyest guy in the building to do this with but that’s life. It flashes through his mind that it’s not too late to sneak off to the toilets and find someone else on his app so he rests his arms on the back of the seat, anchoring himself to the bench and to Callum.

“What’s your name then?” Callum asks, still nervous.

“James.”

He doesn’t know where it comes from, he’s not usually one to give out fake names. Sure, he uses a pseudonym on his app but everyone does- its just good sense- but he usually tells his conquests his name once he’s got them. There’s just something about this guy that’s drawing him in and he can’t’ have that, he needs to be kept at arm’s length. He’ll sleep with him; it’ll scratch the itch that’s been bugging him since he watched the mountainous Portuguese terrain grow smaller beneath him with every foot the plane climbed. He’ll give Callum the honour of an unforgettable night with Ben Mitchell then kick him to the curb in the early hours and forget all about it. Bam. Everyone’s a winner.

After a good 20 minutes of shameless flirting, leaning in close, arm touching and infectious smiles not to mention all the eye fucking and the fact that their thighs have been pressed together under the table pretty much since they sat down, Callum is feeling more comfortable and Ben is more desperate for him than ever.

He can’t hold out any longer, can’t take another second of Callum’s eyes on him when he asks “your place or mine?”

Callum looks terrified for a second, then he laughs, a loud, rich, deep laugh and it goes straight to Ben’s dick. _God, the things he wants to do to him._

Ben’s desire must show on his face because Callum’s laugh quickly dies and they’re left staring at each other like they’re about to start ripping each other’s clothes off in the middle of the club. Maybe they are.

“Um, is yours ok? Sorry it’s just I live with my brother and-“

“Say no more” Ben says, taking his hand and leading him out of the club. He’s got his answer, he doesn’t need the gory details.

Ben curses himself when he feels around for his keys for Phil’s and is greeted by an empty pocket. He can see them in his mind’s eye, on top of his chest of drawers at Ian’s. Fuck. The madhouse it is.

They’ve been kissing the whole way back and Callum’s hand is holding Ben’s tightly as they change direction, heading for the Beale house instead. The second Ben closes his bedroom door behind them Callum is on his knees, unbuckling Ben’s belt and taking him two thirds into his mouth, his hand wrapping around the base so that Ben’s dick is surrounded, and he has no choice but to surrender.

“Easy tiger. At least let me get me shoes off first.” Callum looks up to him through his eyelashes all mortified and _sexy_ and Ben laughs. “Just kiddin. As you were.” Ben lets his head fall back against the door as normal service resumes.

Ben’s close, really close. Callum's technique may leave a bit to be desired, but Ben doesn’t care, he’s gone, he was gone the moment he saw him. He’s meeting Callum’s rhythm with his own thrusts, they’re controlled and gentle but he wants to let go, go to fucking town on this guy but he doesn’t let himself, this one's not just a piece of meat and something in Ben wants Callum to enjoy this too. 

But he’s _close_ , and it’s getting harder to play nice and Callum’s little moans and the firm press of his fingers in the flesh of Ben’s thighs are hijacking his better judgement.

“James..” Callum pulls off and Ben feels bereft, of course he wants to chat _now._ When he doesn’t reply Callum squeezes his thigh “ James”

Huh? Oh yeah, _James._

Except when he looks down to Callum he doesn’t see a man ready for a chin wag; his eyes are dark and wide with desire. A line of spit connects his bottom lip and the tip of Ben’s dick and before he knows it he’s reaching between his legs. Just one more touch, that’s all it will take when Callum’s there looking like _that._

Callum takes his hand, stopping him. “We can stop if ya want. I ain’t gonna make you do anything you don’t want.” In all honestly, Ben’s not sure he can stop, not now, but he would, if Callum’s not into it of course he would.

“No. No it ain’t that.” Callum insists, before letting out a breathy laugh that catches on the spit and pre-come on Ben’s dick and sends a shiver down his spine. “I- I want… I want you to…”

“No.”

“No?” Callum repeats, looking panicked.

“Not unless you say it. Not until you tell me _exactly_ what you want” Ben says slowly, sliding down to be level with Callum, their noses a whisker from touching, enunciating every syllable.

“I want—“ Callum starts, staring intently into Ben’s eyes like he’s reading a sacred text. He swallows hard and Ben can tell how dry his mouth is. “I want you to fuck me.” He says certain and strong and _fuck_ Ben’s gone. “If- if that’s ok with you?” Callum adds, doubt creeping in and _shit_ _why did he have to pick a cute one._

Ben laughs “Think that’s the most polite anyone’s ever asked me to stick my cock in ‘em.” Callum stares at him alarmed. “Alright then, if you insist. Gotta be quiet though, there’s a kid sleeping down the hall”

“You don’t have to-“

“I know.” Ben shrugs, hoping to god that Callum can’t see how much Ben wants this. He knows he doesn’t have to, and he doesn’t usually do this with hookups, but from the moment he laid eyes on Callum he knew he wanted this, that there was only one way tonight was going to go. He stands, bringing Callum with him and directing him onto the bed. “On your knees.”

For a spilt second Callum looks sad, he must have wanted to do this face to face. If he's honest with himself that’s what Ben wants too, to look deep into his fucking god-like eyes as he comes, letting them tip him over the edge in what he can only imagine would be an otherworldly experience; a point of no return. Which is exactly why he can’t do that.

Callum strips quickly, clumsy in his desperation with Ben following suit, and kneels on the bed holding the headboard. Ben comes up close behind him, breathing harshly into Callum’s neck and kissing him roughly. Time to leave his mark.

Ben’s biting and sucking at Callum’s neck, almost happy that his work is done when Callum grinds backwards unexpectedly. Ben loses contact with Callum’s neck and his mind and even he doesn’t recognise the sound that escapes himself. It’s guttural and animalistic and to be honest it even turns him on a bit. It clearly has the same effect on Callum, because when he turns to look at Ben his eyes are so dark he looks like a man possessed.

“Now” he breathes out roughly.

Ben braces one hand on Callum’s shoulder, the other he slides between Callum’s legs, a fire spreading through him at the heat he finds there. His finger finds Callum’s hole and he works his way inside.

He’s tight, both around Ben’s finger and in his shoulders, so Ben does something he’s never done to anyone before. He squeezes Callum’s shoulder lightly, once, twice and tentatively massages the knot he feels there. It feels ridiculous and pathetic and way too intimate and he’s about to pull away, grab his hair or something to style it out but then Callum moans softly and Ben’s suddenly an expert masseur. He settles into a steady pace, simultaneously kneading between his shoulder blades and opening him up.

It feels like seconds and an eternity later that the only sound in the room is the slap of skin and hushed, breathy moans of ecstasy.

Callum’s knuckles are white from gripping so hard to the headboard and Ben’s still a solid presence behind him, his sweaty chest writhing and catching against Callum’s back as he thrusts into him. Ben’s head falls into the crook of Callum’s neck again where he sucks and bites, finishing off the job he started earlier off with a kiss, marking Callum with a souvenir of this. Whatever _this_ is.

Ben slides a hand around the top of Callum’s arm, his touch soft in contrast to the brutal pace he’s set, though Callum’s taking it like a champ. He lets his fingers cascade over the older man’s chest, bumping over his collarbone, his thumb grazes Callum’s nipple and it makes his hips buck wildly, so Ben gives it an experimental squeeze and he thinks Callum might come on the spot. Fuck.

He slides his hand down further, down, down, his fingers guided by the increasingly frantic stifled moans coming from the other man. He traces the soft skin of his stomach, squeezes at his hipbones as his hands continue their descent. He tickles the inside of Callum’s thighs, reaching to trace the line of his balls and Callum shudders, breathless and gasping until Ben finally wraps his hand around his dick, making a gravelly and _beautiful_ sound spill out of the older man. 

He frees a hand from his vice grip on the headboard and takes Ben’s in his, guiding it up to his mouth where slowly, so _painfully_ slowly, he licks a long line from the base of Ben’s palm to the tip of his middle finger, keeping his eyes locked on Ben's the entire time. Then he spits into Ben’s hand, guiding it back between his legs and Ben thinks he might be about to explode.

“Fuck that was so hot” Ben breathes, mesmerised at how the shy guy with the goofy ears and ‘hi I’m Callum’ just did _that._

Callum chuckles.

“You do know I have lube though right?” Ben says jutting is chin to the tub he had swiftly discarded after using it earlier.

“Eh, it’s too far away” Callum says, glancing at the bottle that’s literally two feet away on the bed. “Besides I learnt to be resourceful in the army.” Callum shrugs, like that wasn’t the hottest thing anyone’s ever done.

“I should've joined the army” Ben muses, hold up- _the army?!_

He doesn’t have time for questions though because Callum almost pisses himself laughing, changing it up once again, causing Ben to lose his rhythm. Not that there was much of one anymore, not when they’re both on the edge.

Callum throws his head back in his amusement, giving Ben the opportunity to reach his head round further, watching as Callum’s adam’s apple bobs with his laughter before licking it and kissing him, hard. They’re upright on their knees now, one of Callum’s hands still clenching the headboard, the other pulling Ben’s thigh flush with his own, every part of their bodies melded together, and they’re rocking to the harsh rhythm of Ben’s frantic thrusts.

He doesn’t know how his legs are still going, how his heart hasn’t given out yet but he can feel the heat pooling in his stomach, can feel himself slipping away. He finds Callum’s name is on his tongue fighting valiantly to break free from his lips.

_Don’t say his name. Don’t say his name. Don’t say his fucking name._

He bites his lip to keep it in, he’s biting so hard he thinks he can taste blood but at least he’s got it under control. But then in a final swansong Callum reaches back and threads his fingers through his hair and pulls and that’s all it takes for Ben to lose control, the last fragment of his resolve spilling into the condom.

“C--. Ca-.. Cor blimey.”

_Jesus Christ. Saying his name would have been better than that. Declaring his undying love for the man would have been better than THAT._

He chances a glance at Callum who’s grimace from being so close to the edge has morphed into a puzzled expression. Ben pumps him harder and faster than his current blissed out state allows but somehow he manages it, they always say sex is the best distraction.

Callum comes mercifully quickly, breathing out a chorus of “James, James, James” and suddenly Ben forgets all about distractions and _cor blimeys._ Suddenly he regrets not going to the Albert, not trying it on with someone else, wishes he’d picked a different road for the taxi to drop him off at so he wouldn’t have been in the club at the same time as Callum. He regrets every decision that’s led him to this moment, where another man’s name is spilling from Callum’s lips as they collapse onto a heap on the bed, panting.

As they come to, Callum’s laying on his back with his hands locked under his head and his eyes are glazed over, he looks like he’s seeing stars. He’s taking up so much space and seems so at ease; Ben reckons he’s the kind of guy that can make himself at home anywhere. It’s not fair, how some guy can feel totally at home in Ben’s bed when he doesn’t feel at home anywhere. Ben wants to hate him for it, but he doesn’t have it in him, not tonight.

For a moment Ben ponders that he could make himself a home in Callum if he ever let himself. But he won’t, he can’t. So there’s no point in entertaining such a thought.

“So.. cor blimey?” Callum asks, a wry smile on his lips, clearly having regained some energy while Ben was lost in his thoughts.

“Eh, it’s my thing.” Ben lies, still not recovered enough to lift his head from Callum’s chest let alone torture himself more for saying that right now. He can do that later when Callum’s gone and he’s left staring at the ceiling alone.

Callum hums in what? Agreement? Understanding? Exhaustion?

“Oh, you’re in the wet patch” Callum states, moving to get Ben away from the offending area.

“Yeah that happens when I fuck your brains out” _deflect, always deflect._

“I made it, I should lay in it” Callum chuckles and fucking hell this guy actually cares. Does things just because they’re good things to do. The prospect is so alien to Ben, he wishes it wasn’t, but he’s tired of pretending otherwise.

“Right little chatterbox, ain't ya? Besides I think it was a team effort. Anyway, we could go for round two and neither of us need to be on it, I know it ain’t the biggest bed but—”

“Yeah it is pretty small actually. Is it a single?” Callum asks, inspecting the bed like he’s only just become aware of its existence, like he wasn’t in the process of almost breaking it a few minutes ago.

“It’s a small double, dickhead.” It’s such a simple, innocent question but Ben can’t help it, his back is up immediately.

He doesn’t need to be reminded that he’s got a kid’s bed in his childhood bedroom in his mum’s house that was never actually his childhood bedroom because he was shoved around more times than a pass the parcel at a kid’s party because neither of his parents could be bothered with him.

He doesn’t need reminding that while it’s a bit snug when there’s someone in there with him it fits just him perfectly. It’s not another thing that’s too big, another thing he needs to grow into or live up to. That it’s the only place he can be alone and not feel lonely.

“Alright alright, calm down.” Callum says, clearly surprised at Ben’s outburst.

”I think you should go” Ben says, hard and firm.

“James it was a joke.”

_James._

Ben ignores him. He clears his throat and puffs his chest as much as he can while laying down. “Got a busy day tomorrow, and I find it’s always better if they leave under the cover of night.” He needs to say it, needs to make sure Callum knows that this is a regular thing for him. That Callum’s not special and tonight wasn’t special and that Ben can forget about him just like all the others. Callum needs to know. Maybe if he believes it Ben might have a hope in hell of believing it too.

Callum looks crestfallen for a moment, and it reignites Ben’s hatred for his Mitchell bravado. Callum nods sadly and stands, dressing silently. Ben stares at the ceiling unbothered as if Callum’s not even there, as if his tiny comforting bed didn’t suddenly feel like a vast empty pit.

Callum gives a soft “bye” at the door, and waits for a moment, two, three, but Ben says nothing, so he ducks his head and leaves silently, under the cover of night.


	2. Three out of Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter 2, which really is the other half of chapter 1 that I've fleshed out a bit so hopefully it works as a chapter in it's own right. 
> 
> Thanks so much for your comments and kudos on chapter 1, it really helped me to feel more comfortable with this and want to continue, so thank you :) 
> 
> I'll be honest, my idea for this one isn't as clear in my mind as Black and Blue was, so it might take me a bit longer to get this one out. I've got quite a few scenes, dialogue and the end in my mind but I'm finding putting them together a little bit harder this time. But then again, I might have a moment of clarity where it all comes together and I'm writing like a woman possessed! 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy this chapter. 
> 
> tw: talk of Paul in this chapter and swearing again (that will just be throughout- sorry!)

Ben woke at the crack of dawn, allowing himself to blame it on the jetlag for about 20 minutes before remembering that Portugal and England are in the same time zone. He rolls over, frustrated and looks at his bedside table where his lamp is laying on its side from where Callum had kicked it over in his haste last night. He goes to right it, but stops himself, his hand hovering in the air and a soft smile on his lips.

Shit.

He gets up quickly, needing to get out of a space that doesn’t feel his anymore. Throwing on whatever clothes are closest to him he leaves, slamming the door behind him. The force of the door closing makes the lamp rock gently where it’s left on its side.

After an hour of walking aimlessly around the park and successfully freezing his bits off after forgetting to put on a coat for his early morning escape in February, he’s sat in the café. He could laugh at it really; he’s always falling back on someone. He’s just been away for months, fending for himself in another country with a language he doesn’t understand having to go without talking to any of his family and the second he has some time to just be he flees his brother’s house to go to his brother’s café and be served by his mum. But that’s his life, constantly flitting between his dad’s messes and the loving yet tough arms of his mum like a boomerang. Never mind that fact that’s he’s an adult now, never mind that he he’s a father himself, he can never do anything alone.

“Benjamin Mitchell.” He rolls his eyes as he looks up from his fry up to Jay, who has just stormed into the café and is walking towards him with a face like thunder.

“Jay-jamin Brown” Ben teases around a bite of toast.

“What?” Jay asks in a way that clearly says he doesn’t have time for this.

“Dunno. What can I say, ya name’s boring mate.”

“So sorry, you can take that up with my awol mum and dead dad” Jay deadpans.

Ben shrugs, sipping his coffee, touché. 

He throws a glance to his mum behind the counter. She's been staring at him lovingly since he came in, after she suffocated him in a hug and blubbered into his shirt about how 'she never thought she'd see him again'. Like she hasn't had her fair share of running away from her fuck ups in the past. But ever since Jay came in the café she's been unashamedly staring and grinning like a fucking Cheshire cat, not even trying to be discreet. 

"What? No tearful reunion for your returnee brother?" 

Jay rolls his eyes, “whatever. Lola’s got the hump with you” Ben looks confused, then looks at his watch and realises he’s going to be late taking Lexi to school.

“Shit” he bolts up, his chair scraping loudly on the floor, ready to hotfoot it to Ian’s. He only makes it a few steps, though, before he’s being pulled back into a tight hug, Jay holding him close and doing the thing they’re best at; saying everything by saying nothing.

He needs to go, he needs to take Lexi to school and grovel to Lola but he allows himself a few more moments with Jay. Aside from Paul -and Lexi of course but that's different, he's meant to be the one holding her up- Jay is the only other person Ben has ever truly felt comfortable being held by. Yeah, he loves his mum now but he’ll never trust her the way he used to, the way he should.

But Jay is different. He’s family by choice. He doesn’t need to love Ben but he does, doesn't need to look for the good and accept the bad but he does. And he’s stood by him through Heather, Paul, countless fights with his dad. Every time Ben’s life has gone to shit Jay has been there to pick him up and tell him that everything is going to be ok.

Jay is family without being plagued by the Mitchell bloodline. He doesn’t have the same expectations on his shoulders, the same cross to bear. He’s not obsessed with honour and preserving the family name, bogged down by loyalties that only end you up living at Her Majesty’s pleasure. Most of the time Jay’s freedom from the things that wear Ben down drive him to near insanity. His jealousy of Jay’s position in the family, somehow just getting everything right and being welcomed into the fold without question; without the drawbacks of being Phil’s son.

Even Ben can’t deny that the reason he loves Jay so much is that because he’s _not_ a Mitchell. Sure, he’s done some questionable things, doesn’t come from much himself but he’s good the whole way through. He can put stupid enforced loyalties to Phil aside to stand with Ben, support him through anything. Bar Lexi, Jay is the person Ben has the strongest bond with in the world, and while Ben may have been an idiot in the past and absolutely will be again the future, he knows Jay has his back and always will. And he will always protect Jay and their bond with his life.

He pulls away when he hears his mum cooing “ah, look at the pair of ‘em.” He clears his throat, a quick glance around the café to see who saw their moment. It’s no secret that Ben can be quite the exhibitionist when he wants to be, but he’s not one to give people their jollies over their morning tea and toast. He gives Jay a nod before heading off to Ian’s.

“Lo, Lo I’m so sorry I-“He grovels, the apologies coming thick and fast as he closes the kitchen door.

“Look who’s finally decided to show up” she scathes, hands on hips and she does _not_ look happy.

“Sorry I- I.. overslept.”

“No you didn’t, you was just in the café eating a fry up after a night of doing god knows what”

“Firstly its god knows _who,_ and second how do you know that?”

“Jay texted me.”

“Bastard” he mutters. Jay may have his back, but he’s always the first to grass Ben up to Lola too.

“Plus, I saw you last night Ben. And I saw you leave all excited and… horny.” She says, her face screwed up in disgust.

Shit, he thought he’d slipped out undetected. “Well, at least it was a great night, gotta say, I was pretty _stiff_ getting up this morning.” He says, stretching exaggeratedly for Lola’s benefit and flashing her a boastful smile.

Lola rolls her eyes, “Please Ben, I don’t wanna know, just take our daughter to school, will ya?”

As if on cue Lexi comes running down the stairs looking a picture in her school uniform, bookbag in hand. “DADDY” she cries, launching herself into her dad’s arms.

“Princess!” Ben cries, catching her. He’ll always catch her.

“You’re back! Are you taking me to school?” She asks, beaming, and Ben can see she’s lost a few more teeth in the months since he last saw her. He can’t bear to think about what else he’s missed.

“Course I am.” He smiles, booping her on the nose and nestling his face into her cheek, breathing her in. He hasn’t breathed this easy in months.

She looks to Lola, giving her her best puppy dog eyes. “Mummy do I _have_ to go to school? Daddy’s home and I think I should spend the day with him instead.” She says nodding, like it’s a done deal. Lola gapes at her and Ben just smiles, _that’s my girl._

“Ya know what, _mummy_ , I think she makes a great point.” He chimes, giving Lola a mischievous grin.

Lola lets out a disparaging sigh, she’s outnumbered. “No Lex, you can see your daddy later ok? _After school.”_ She clarifies, giving Ben a pointed look.

“But mummyyyy” she sulks, sliding out of her dad’s arms.

“But nothing. School. Now.”

“Come on Princess, listen to ya mum. She knows best after all.” He winks a Lola, hoping it’s enough to start his journey back into her good books but it’s met with a scowl, _try harder._

“Well get a move on then!” Lexi huffs, turning to Ben, “we’re going to be late!” She cries, suddenly desperate to get to school and hitting him on the leg to drive her point home.

“Alright, alright bossy!” He exclaims in a surprise that’s only partially feigned, _when did she get so grown up?_

“Cheeky little mare, ain’t she?” Lola laughs as Lexi runs to the back door, practically vibrating on the spot in her eagerness to leave.

“Can’t think where she gets it from” Ben replies dryly.

Lola’s face turns sour and she flips him the middle finger, taking advantage of their daughter’s divided attention. “Yeah well at least she won’t get taken advantage of. She’s a strong girl and she’ll be a strong woman.”

“Amen to that.”

“DADDY! WE’RE GOING TO BE LATE!” Lexi shouts, standing in the dining room doorway.

“Wow” Ben recoils, readjusting his hearing aid that had boomed in his hear at Lexi’s shouting. “That’s me told” he says quietly to Lola.

“Isn’t daddy just _so_ old and slow?” Lola says dramatically to her daughter, who nods vigorously, a look of _this is what I have to put up with_ on her face. God, Ben really can’t wait for the teenage years…

“Oi, you’re older than me” Ben whispers to Lola as he passes her.

“She don’t know that.”

Ben rolls his eyes, “Come on Princess, let’s get you to school before you blow a gasket.”

“Ughh finally!” Lexi enthuses, throwing her hands in the air. Ben and Lola share a bemused look before he and Lexi leave, closing the kitchen door behind them.

After he dropped Lexi at school he popped into the Arches. Things were ticking over fine there, while Dotty might be a sloppy kisser she’s a bloody good mechanic. He’s had a few customary ‘you’re back!’ chats with random neighbours in the market and now he’s back in the Mitchell house, trying to keep his eyes open as the dulcet tones of Bargain Hunt drone on in the background.

He’s just decided to go upstairs have a nap, after all, he didn’t get much sleep last night, when he’s startled by a knock at the door.

“Alright alright, keep your knickers on.” He moans when the fist knocks on the glass window again. Jesus, whoever this is better have a good excuse for bothering him. He reaches the door and yanks it open, faltering when he sees a familiar face staring back at him.

Callum’s staring at him, his brilliant eyes wide and mouth gaping open. His hair isn’t as perfectly styled as it was last night and Ben wants to take credit for that, wants to believe that he ran his fingers through it and pulled it so much last night that Callum just couldn’t properly tame it this morning. Ben’s mind wonders back to mere hours ago when Callum’s body was pressed against his, his fingers twisted in Ben’s hair and he can’t help himself. “Back for round two already?” He asks, a devilish smirk on his lips.

Callum frowns, confused, probably because of the way Ben had- in no uncertain terms- told him to fuck off last night, but Ben’s never been one to deny himself a good time. And if there's one thing that he can decipher about the man with the big blue eyes and dopey grin it's that last night was a fucking _good time._

“No, I--. I’m” Callum stutters, flustered by Ben’s forwardness. His ears have gone red and Ben feels a warmth in his chest that he quickly ignores. “I’m here for work, James. Is there a Ben Mitchell here?” Callum asks, looking down at some paperwork he’s holding and then back to Ben. That’s when Ben sees what he’s wearing.

A police uniform.

 _Holy shit._ Of course he’s a copper. Talk about too good to be fucking true.

The warmth in Ben is replaced by a wave of nausea in the pit of his stomach. He’s usually got a pretty good radar for cops, and this one slipped through the cracks. Ben let him into his home, his bed. And as much as he doesn’t want it to be true he can only deny for so long that last night wasn’t just any old hookup, that there's something about Callum that sets him alight in a way he hasn't been for years. 

“God, you are new here. Hello Ben, can we come in?” the unmistakable drone of Jack Branning- or as Ben likes to call him -scum of the earth- hits Ben’s ears, and he feels even more sick than he did from the Callum revelation.

Fuck. He’s done it. Phil’s blabbed, dumped Ben right in it probably for a reduced sentence or something. All of the ‘blood is thicker than water’ bullshit he sprouts, and he goes and does this? He always was a fickle bastard.

Jack doesn’t wait for Ben’s response before barging through his front door. Charming.

It’s then that Ben redirects his attention to Callum, and he wishes he hadn’t, the man looks distraught. All his cute nervousness from a moment ago dissolved into an expression of hurt and betrayal. Ben wants to brush it off, _it was only a one-night-stand mate, chill out_ but something in him can’t. It’s the same thing that's making his heart beat faster just by being in Callum's presence, the same thing that stopped him from righting the lamp this morning.

Callum quickly trains his face into a more professional expression that Ben usually wouldn’t think twice about seeing on a copper, but after knowing how beautiful and warm Callum’s smile is, his current expression feels like being doused in a bucket of ice water.

Callum opens his mouth to speak but doesn’t say anything, he closes it and sighs, shaking his head gently. Ben sees the moment Callum remembers where he is, what he’s here for and he stands a little taller, giving Ben a small, tight smile before walking into the house.

Shit.

Ben can feel the panic rising, he’s accustomed to having police show up at his door, at this point it’s weird if he goes 6 months without a visit from the Old Bill. But he has no idea what Phil has said, why he’s done it now. Surely it can’t be that bad? If it was there would have been police waiting for him at the airport last night. No, it can’t be that bad.

It’s not just that though. He’s been arrested more times that he can count, what’s one more time? As hard as he tries to ignore it, he knows there’s only one thing that accounts for the unease that’s currently taking over him. Furrowed brows, downturned lips, eyes that can’t hide the sadness behind them; a face that he’s seen smiling and light, slack and blissed out now wearing a betrayed frown instead. He’s hurt Callum, and even though he shouldn’t care, wouldn’t usually even remember a hookup’s name by this point the next day, he does care, and it makes him feel heavy.

He takes a deep breath. _Focus._

Phil blabbed and now he’s going to prison. He looks through the hallway to the back door, he could run, he’d have a head start as Jack and Callum acquaint themselves in the living room but he doesn’t. Instead, he does some quick maths in his head. It’s funny how he was always crap at it at school but when it comes to calculating jail sentences he’s a whizz. Aggravated burglary, possession of a firearm, running away to Portugal, that paired with his past he’d be lucky if he’s out in time for Lexi’s graduation.

Lexi.

No. He can’t run. He needs to play nice and get his sentencing as quickly as possible. The sooner he’s in the sooner he’s out and back with his daughter, no matter how much she’ll hate him for leaving her.

“What am I meant to have done this time?” He questions innocently, walking into the living room and batting his eyelashes with pouted lips. Just because he’s accepted his fate doesn’t mean he can’t give the dickhead Jack Branning some fun and games along the way.

“This is PC Highway. I'm sure you two will get to know each other pretty quickly, the amount you're in and out of the station." 

"Oh, I'm sure we will. Very quickly indeed. What do you think, _PC Highway?"_ Ben turns to Callum, shooting him an adoring smile and marvelling in the sheer speed of the blush that consumes Callum's cheeks and ears. To his credit, Callum only looks like a deer in headlights for a split second before regaining some composure and giving Ben yet another strained smile and curt nod.

God, Ben may have told him to keep it down last night but he didn't expect the guy to go all mute on him. Plus, there's something in Ben that's yearning to hear his voice again, to know if it's as deep and entrancing in the daylight hours or if the crux of his snare is alcohol and the desperation to forget the comes with the sunset. 

"Sit down, Ben” Jack says, spreading himself on the sofa.

“Where?” Ben asks, pointing out his manspreading “You know, I’ve had a lot of guys sprawled out on that sofa, I mean, a lot. Some of ‘em real mingers too, but never have I been so repulsed by someone on my sofa as I am right now.” Ben looks away in feigned disgust, gesturing at Jack to close his legs.

He revels at the sheepish look on Jack’s face as he slowly does as he’s told- it’s rare that a man with an ego the size of Jack Branning’s is ever embarrassed by anything, so Ben will take that one as a win. But in reality his jibe was more a message to Callum than to Jack, another reminder that he was just another notch on Ben’s bedpost, another face in a long line of conquests.

He turns to Callum, who now is hovering awkwardly next to the armchair and by the less trained look on his face he got Ben’s message loud and clear. Good. The more Ben feels the more he needs to push him away. “Now that’s sorted I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?”

A few minutes and a million thoughts swirling in his mind later, he returns with tea. “So, officers, what can I do you for?”

“We ain’t here to arrest you today unfortunately” Jack says, taking a sip of tea and wincing when it burns.

Ben rolls his eyes. God, he’s such a dick.

“Ok so why are you here?” he asks, looking between Jack and Callum who has sat next to Jack and is apparently captivated by his tea, unable to tear his eyes away from his cup.

_What the hell are they doing here if it's not the job?_

Jack puts his cup on the table, leaning towards Ben. “You were in a relationship with Paul Coker at the time of his death. Is that correct?”

_What?_

He opens his mouth but only a strained noise comes out. He can’t formulate a sentence; he can barely formulate a rational thought with the tsunami of them that have flooded his mind. People rarely talk about Paul these days, and if they do it’s Jay or Lola, occasionally his mum or Phil, but even then, its usually around the anniversary or because Ben brought him up first. Either way, it’s not the name that’s so special to Ben being said by _Jack fucking Branning_ after he barged into his home and practically got his dick out on the sofa.

He stares into space, watching as the dust particles floating in the air dance around, being thrown about by forces not seen by the naked eye. That how Ben feels right now; manhandled by some evil reminder of his past, blindsided and flung overboard, desperately trying to cling on to something _anything_ for dear life.

But the water is smooth, and he can’t get a grip.

His eyes shut tight, he squeezes his thigh hard, and it helps him to get a handle on things, to ground him back into his living room. But then he sees the dust particles again and how they catch the light and it reminds him of the gold flecks in Paul’s eyes and he’s about to be gone again, lost to the grief and anger and--

“Ben?” Jack’s waving his hand in front of Ben’s face, clicking like an arsehole that’s asking a waiter for the check.

Ben’s silent for a few moments, still completely dumbfounded but thankfully back in the present- for now. “W- what?”

“You were Paul’s boyfriend when he died, right?”

“Y-you know I was.” Ben forces out, and Jack nods curtly.

“Then you’ll know that only three of the four perpetrators were arrested at the time.”

“Murderers.”

“What?”

“They murdered Paul. They’re murderers.” There’s a part of him that’s proud of the edge in his voice, the fight that’s still there despite everything. But he also knows that it gives him away, shows his weakness and that is not something he can do in front of Jack. And Callum? He’s already given way too much away on that front, he must have.

“Course” Jack says flippantly. Callum snaps his head to look at Jack, momentarily disgusted, before flicking his gaze to Ben. Their eyes stay locked for a moment, his stare gentle and searching, before a switch seems to flip in him again, like at the front door, and Callum’s attention is once again consumed by looking into his now half empty cup of tea.

Ben can feel his hands start to shake and bile rise in his throat. He ignores his thundering heart and tries to control his breathing because he has to know “What’s all this about?”

“There’s been some new evidence—”

“What new evidence?”

“We’ll talk about it at the station.”

“At the station? What is all this?” Ben demands, rising to his feet. His anger is playing right into Jack’s pocket and he knows it, but he can’t do this. He can’t play Jack’s pissing match any more.

“Ben” Callum speaks for the first time and it's the horn on the rescue boat that's come to save him from drowning. He sets his cup down gently, leaning closer to Ben and looking at him earnestly, “we’re reopening Paul’s case. And we need your help to solve it for good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Callum is a police officer in this. No, I still don't like his career choice but it looks like I'm going to have to get used to it .


	3. Room 107

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to apologise for the delay in posting this chapter, I've just been really busy! On the plus side though we have EE back on our screens! And I think they're doing a great job so far for the most part (I'm looking at you, scene of Martin and Ruby 'holding hands'). Obviously I completely understand why it was done that way but it still looked really funny to me. 
> 
> Sorry, this is mostly a chapter of Ben being sad but as I'm sure you can appreciate, this story is going to bring up some difficult things for Ben. Hopefully after this chapter things will get a little lighter, but his grief will continue to be a theme so if that is something you're uncomfortable with please read with caution or don't read at all. Take care of yourselves :) 
> 
> That being said, I hope you enjoy this chapter, thanks for reading :) 
> 
> tw: grief, drinking/ being drunk, talk of guilt and a few references to the night Paul died but nothing graphic.

Ben’s sat staring into his cup of coffee that looks weaker than Ian’s sex appeal. The bright lights of the questioning room are making his eyes hurt, or maybe it’s the lack of sleep, or the adrenaline coursing through him as he remembers the words _we’re reopening Paul’s case. And we need your help to solve it for good._

He’s usually got a pretty good idea of how a police visit is going to go when they turn up at his door, the look of resignation on the officers faces because they’re at the Mitchell house _again_ , their attempt at being cocky, pretending they have the upper hand when really they’re miles behind. The matriarch of the moment- either Sharon or Kathy- being pissed by their arrival, moaning at Ben and Phil with the ‘what have you done now’s?” and “these bloody men will never learn”. The unavoidable trip to the station and economical versions of the truth Ben and Phil are so used to giving now they don’t even realise they’re doing it anymore.

But this has been different. From the moment Ben opened the door and saw Callum he’s been on edge. His logical, evolved brain rationalised their visit with the job, Phil dumping him in it and sitting back to watch the chaos unfold, but there was something else. Something primal inside him telling him that something bad is coming, telling him to ready himself for a fight.

He had no way of knowing that he would be thrown back into the ring of the biggest fight of his life.

He’s been in more questioning rooms in more police stations than he can count, but he hasn’t been in _this_ one for a long time. Years, in fact.

He noticed on the way in that this was the same room he was in to make his statement after Paul was killed. Room 107, tucked away at the end of the corridor that felt endless both times he walked down it. He’s got the same view from the same seat he sat in 4 years ago; dark grey walls marked with various scuffs and dents in the plaster, a chip in the coving in the top left corner of the room next to the CCTV camera, a tiny window in the wall to his right, shrouded in a privacy coating, barely illuminating anything despite the long defunct vertical blind that half covers it. 

He can feel the same bubble in the linoleum where the chair has scraped against it for years. He remembers playing with it with his feet the last him he was in here, it was the one thing he didn’t have to answer to, the one thing he was in control of, paling under his feet. His feet subconsciously start toying with it again, trying to regain some control. He notices the bubble has gotten bigger, the void between the floor and the lino mirroring the emptiness that has festered inside himself all these years. His old wounds being ripped open again; the chair scraping against the lino.

He thinks back to how broken he was when he last sat in this chair. How physically and mentally shattered he was. He’d just lost the only person he ever truly loved and who loved him back. Paul was the first person to teach Ben that love can be free; it doesn’t have to be a transaction; a dodgy job here for his dad to be proud of him, a loving hug from his mum tainted at the edges with resent and incomplete forgiveness. Hell, even his relationship with Jay has had its moments. 

He credits Paul for him being able to love Lexi so freely, so openly without the fear that has usually plagued him loving someone. He may be gone, and Ben’s main motivation for being a good father may be to prove that he can, to not be his own dad, but it’s also a small way for him to keep Paul and the love he taught Ben existed alive.

Callum clears his throat and it brings Ben back into the room, no not the room. Part of him has been imprisoned in this room for four years. Callum brings him back to the present. Ben reckons that if he thinks about that for too long he’d find a double meaning in there, so he doesn’t.

“This looks like piss.” He says, nodding towards his cup.

“Tastes like it too.” Callum offers him a small smile. He goes to say something else but stops when Jack enters the room. He gives Ben a look and presses start on the recorder.

_Showtime._

“Interview with Ben Mitchell regarding the case of the murder of Paul Coker started at 12:08pm, 9th February 2020.” Jack states for the benefit of the recording. He takes a long gulp of his coffee, it’s foamy and in a real cup, the good stuff from the staff room not like the shit him and Callum are drinking. Ben wonders why Callum doesn’t have the nice coffee too, he reckons it’s Jack doing some kind of fucked up power play and realises why Callum has the stuff from the vending machine. 

“We’ve had a new eyewitness come forward.” Jack says as he sits down, wasting no time in getting to the point.

“What, it took ‘em 4 years to go to specsavers?” Ben takes a deep breath, he has to do this, needs to be the cocky and abrasive Ben if he’s to get through this, but he didn’t realise how exhausting it was going to be. “Why now? Why are they dragging this up now?”

“The witness has been in a relationship with the perp, Jeremy Davies, since before the incident. They’ve recently broken up and she came forward.”

“The incident? You mean my boyfriend’s murder?” Ben challenges, sick of Jack brushing Paul’s case off like its some petty crime.

Jack throws him a look as if to say ‘this again?’ He continues to stare Ben down, a teasing glint in his eyes because this guy is provocation personified. Jack might think that Ben’s the one stuck in the past, but he’s the one who can’t stop treating Ben like a criminal when on this -albeit rare- occasion, Ben is one of the victims.

The joke’s on him anyway, because while Jack’s so busy watching Ben, he completely misses the look of disdain Callum fires at him. It’s brief and quickly under control, but Ben notices how Callum’s jaw tightens a fraction, the miniscule twitch in the corner of his right eye and a thrill shoots through Ben, leaving behind a tingle in his fingertips in its wake.

“Jack- can I call you Jack? You know, on tape for all your little jumped up mates to hear? Or would you prefer Mr? Sir perhaps? King Jack Branning, here to serve the people of Walford, locking up the shoplifters and pick pockets of Bridge Street Market with pride and a wildly over inflated ego!” Ben announces like a town crier, gesticulating wildly to really hammer home how much of a fool Jack is.

Jack laughs “Shoplifters and pick pocketers? Alright mate, that’s why I’m on this massive case then, is it?”

“Nah, that’s why your completely wrong for this case.. _mate._ Which brings be back to my point, when are you gonna stop treating me like a criminal? We have a past, I know that, but I aint done nothing wrong. You’ve called me in here so I can relive my boyfriend’s murder, an attack which- and you seem to have forgotten this- but I was also beaten to a pulp in!” Ben takes some steadying breaths; he needs to find a way to regulate his rapid breathing before he can continue. 

“I guess it must be nice to be able to forget that.” He’s alarmed at how much his voice shakes but he can’t stop himself. “To be able to forget Paul, and the look in his eyes when them guys started chasing us, how hard he was squeezing my had when we was literally running for our lives. How I kept going when—”

Ben exhales deeply, feeling his body slump as the air leaves him. He rubs away traitor tears roughly, clenching his fists tightly to hide how his hands shake. He glances up to the men in front of him, Jack still a picture of suspicion, but the way Callum is staring at him makes Ben’s breath catch and his anger dissipate.

“Ben.” Callum’s voice is low and gentle, eyes earnest and searching. “I can’t even begin to imagine how hard this is for you. But if we’re gonna catch Davies, if we’re gonna get justice for Paul, we need your cooperation. Please, Ben.”

Ben gives a small nod, looking down. He takes a few moments to compose himself before answering “ok.”

“Thank you” Callum gives a small smile.

Jack casts a furtive glance between the two men and it seems to reignite a fire in him. Well, two can play that game, Ben’s like the fucking Human Torch.

“What did you do after Paul’s death?” It’s a genuine question, like Callum actually wants to know how he was, how he coped. But Callum’s always genuine, sincere. Like Paul was. It’s jarring.

“Started treating this place like a hotel.” Jack chimes in. Callum takes a deep steadying breath, its then that Ben is sure there’s clearly just as much love lost between Callum and Jack as there is between Ben and DI dickhead. “Went through half of Walford” Jack scoffs.

“I could say the same about you and my family” Ben accuses. Callum looks wide eyed between Ben and Jack, seemingly fascinated and alarmed by the fierce staring contest that’s broken out between the two men.

Ben’s had enough, giving Jack an exaggerated wink to put an end to their battle of wills. Jack rolls his eyes, relenting, muttering “hussy” under his breath.

“Hussy?” Ben lets an obnoxious laugh rip from him. “Careful Jack, your showing your age there. Comebacks from this century, yeah?” He sees Jack’s jaw clench and it sends a wave of satisfaction through him. It pales in comparison though to the thrill that slips down his spine when he sees Callum smiling into his coffee.

“Yeah, yeah I struggled a bit. A lot.” He admits, holding his hands up, “but I’m doing better now, really trying to be better for my daughter.” Jack scoffs, throwing his pen on the table and Callum looks transfixed.

“I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

“I do. Lexi, she’s my pride and joy” he says and he feels lighter instantly, he can feel the glow that comes with talking about his little girl. It illuminates Callum.

“She sleeps just down the hall from me.” Jack’s face screws up at the randomness of Ben’s statement, eyes darting as if he’ll find meaning to it on the walls. But Ben doesn’t care about his reaction, those words weren’t for him, they were for Callum, a reminder of words he had said only hours ago. Hours and a lifetime. They land exactly on target and Callum chokes on his perfectly timed sip of coffee, a thick blush covering his cheeks in seconds. He gulps harshly and takes another swig of his coffee, wincing because it _tastes like piss._

“Look Ben, this is gonna be a bit of a long slog, so we’ll call you if we need anything, alright?” Jack says briskly, and Ben can’t help but feel like Jack’s just interrupted something.

“A long slog? Why? You’ve found him you know where he lives, just go and arrest him.” Ben questions, genuinely confused.

“It ain’t that simple.”

“He killed someone, sounds pretty simple to me.”

Jack sighs heavily, sharing a look with Callum who nods grimly. “Davies has ties to a drug ring, one of the biggest in London. If we can watch him for a bit, see where he goes, who he sees we can learn a lot, maybe take ‘em all down.”

“Or, you could just arrest him for the _murder_ her committed and question him about the bloody drugs when you’ve got him” Ben supplies, dumbfounded that Jack would put a drugs bust ahead of jailing a murder. 

“That won’t work.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Tell me Ben, how many times have you been questioned here? And how many times did you tell the truth?”

Ben huffs an incredulous laugh but he doesn’t say anything. As much as he hates to admit it, Jack’s got a point.

“You let me lead my investigation, alright? Now, as much of a joy this has been, we’re done. You can go now Ben. We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.” Jack says after a few moments of silence, closing the folder on the table in front of him.

“What, already?” Ben asks, confused because he feel like barely knows any more than he did when he came in.

“Yeah, we’ve got your number. We’ll call if we need anything else.” Callum says with a reassuring smile.

“I know you do” Ben smirks, causing Jack to shoot another glance between them and sending Callum into a tailspin.

“Th-thanks Ben. Take care” he stammers. Ben catches Callum scent as he walks out of the room, Callum holding the door open for him. He’s about to turn around, say something more, catch another glimpse of the room, of Callum. But then he hears the door of Room 107 click shut behind him, and he can’t help but think it’s for the best.

He must have been walking for hours by the time he finds himself stood outside the funeral parlour. Early February drizzle coats his skin and droplets cling in his hair, rolling into his eyes as he looks up to the sign, _Coker and Mitchell._ It used to give him comfort, seeing his name up there alongside Paul’s, the forever they never got to have. Up there for everyone to see, immortalised. 

But as time’s gone on the sign has started to leave a bitter taste in Ben’s mouth. That name, his name that Phil thinks is the be all and end all, up there next to Paul’s. The hardness and corruption held in the Mitchell name, the antithesis of the warm-hearted loving nature of the Coker’s. It’s exposing, showing his family for what they really are, what _he_ really is. It doesn’t fit, it not right and its up there for everyone to see, immortalised.

He downs the rest of his cheap off-license beer and chucks the bottle in the bin. It’s his third one and it’s not made a dent. Some pains just can’t be numbed, they scream to be heard.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the window and hears a bitter laugh escape him. He looks the total opposite of himself last night when he was well dressed and hot and alive, now he looks like one of the poor sods in the funeral parlour; dishevelled, grey and lifeless. Its funny, how it doesn’t matter how he looks, last night dressed up to the nines or here, looking like shit with a drop of beer staining his shirt, he’s still after the same thing. Still just after something to numb years’ worth of pain.

He’s in a daze as he walks in, staring straight ahead his eyes fixed on nothing.

“Ah, Mr Jackson. You’re early, our appointment ain’t for another 20 minutes. Never mind, take a seat I’ll stick the kettle on.” Ben ignores the dulcet tones of a bald man with crazy eyes that works there, walking straight past him and into the room of rest. The last place he saw Paul.

“Err…Mr Jackson? I think we should chat out here, sir.”

“I aint Mr Jackson. Leave me alone.” Is all Ben says before slamming the door shut behind him and locking it quickly, leaving the bald twat gaping at him through the door.

His breath catches when he steps inside. The smell is the same as before; overpowering potpourri, the salty tears of loved ones, the desperation to cling onto the stale remnants of life. It hurtles him back to late that night four years ago when he sat in here for hours and hours talking to Paul through layers of mahogany and the veil in between their worlds.

He cried until his eyes stung, talked until his voice was hoarse. He spoke of promises that were never to be made good on, unfulfilled potential and the joy of their life together that was never to be. He promised Paul that he’d find the animals that killed him, make them pay for it, make them wish that they were the ones dead.

He remembers every word like they’re lyrics to a song, one he never wants to hear again. One that even with Ben having struggled with his hearing his whole life, knows not to take the fragile remains of his sense for granted, makes him want to plug his ears and tune out the world the second he starts hearing it.

He doesn’t know at what point the tears started falling, for all he knows he could have been crying before he even walked through the door, but one thing he does know is that they won’t be stopping any time soon. For the first time in a long, long time, Ben doesn’t put up a fight, he lets them take him to the place he never allows himself to go.

A while later he finds himself curled on the floor, a dull ache in his cheekbone from where it’s been pressed against the hard wood for a long time, his face tight from dried tear tracks, only broken by the relief of an occasional stray tear that slides over the bridge of his nose, making a small puddle beneath him. His eyes are fixed on a spot on the far wall, his focus long gone and his mind mercifully blank.

Voices on the other side of the door startle Ben out of his trance. “Bruv, finally your back!” the guy from earlier cries, before lowering his voice “oi, come ‘ere. There’s some nutter in there, locked ‘imself in hours ago. I can’t get in!” he says, somewhat hysterically.

“Is he alright?” The other voice asks. It sounds familiar, but Ben can’t place it. His good ear is pressed against the floor and he can’t muster any concentration to try to pick out the voice.

“I dunno do I? I ain’t got x-ray vision Callum”.

Callum. Shit. Of course it’s Callum. _What the fuck is he doing here?_

“Stu, you do know we’ve got a spare set of keys upstairs right? In the kitchen drawer.”

“Oh yeah! Yeah we do don’t we! You’re a genius Bruv! Think I might grab something to eat while I’m up there. I’m starvin’.”

“Stu, there’s a grieving person in there and all you can think about is the fact you’re hungry?” Callum asks in disbelief.

“What? He’s been in there for hours, I ain’t eaten since lunch!” Stuart whines defensively.

“Whatever, just hurry up, yeah.” Ben hears the guy’s footsteps retreat and him run up the stairs.

Before he can think about it, Ben reaches up and unlocks the door with a click. Half a second later, there’s a soft, tentative knock on the door.

“Uh, hello? You alright in here?” Callum hesitates by the door before looking in. “Ben.” He breathes, clearly surprised to see him and taken aback at the state of the man on the floor.

Ben reaches up and locks the door again, it’s pointless considering Stuart has gone to get a spare key but it still makes him feel a little safer.

Callum takes a few slow steps into the room as if not wanting to startle a wild animal, settling on the ground opposite Ben. “Sorry about my brother, hope he ain’t been bothering you too much.” Callum says with a nervous laugh. It takes a lot of effort, but Ben sits up, placing his weight against the wall behind him and shakes his head weakly. Stuart could have been banging on the door and screaming the place down for the last few hours and Ben would have been none the wiser.

“Ben, I know I said it earlier but—”

“I said I’d get them.” Ben says, his voice croaky and barely audible.

“What?”

“I promised Paul I’d make ‘em pay.”

“Well, three of them have. And we can get Davies, we’ve got some promising leads. We can put him away for a long time.”

Ben lets out an empty laugh. “Prison? A slap on the wrist, couple of years behind bars _thinking about what they did,_ ” he adds in air quotes, “planning their next attack more like. That’s what they get for beating someone to death? It ain’t good enough, not for Davies or any of ‘em.” There’s no heat in Bens words, no fight. Not now, not after the day he’s had. Not here with Callum.

He knows its not fair, saying that their punishment wasn’t enough when it’s the same as what Ben got for killing Heather. But that was an accident, a split-second white rage, he didn’t mean to kill her, didn’t even mean to hurt her. And while Davies and his gang may not have meant to kill Paul, they knew what they were doing, they knew how to fight and they knew how to kill.

“What are you saying?” Callum asks cautiously after a few moments of quiet contemplation.

Ben sighs deeply, “I’m saying--“

His answer is cut off by a loud knock on the door and a slightly panicked voice trickling in through the space between the door and the floor. “Bruv? Bruv you in there? I’ve got the key.”

“Yeah Stu I’m in here, we’re fine. Give us a minute, yeah? Go have that dinner you’re desperate for.” Callum says, swiftly manoeuvring to pull the chair sitting in the corner of the room towards him and hook it under the door handle rendering the spare key useless. Shutting out Stuart, shutting out Jack and Phil and the rest of the world, protecting the bubble he and Ben have created where it’s just them and all the things that threaten to destroy them.

“Oh, er. Alright then if you’re sure. Let me know if you need a hand, yeah?”

“Yeah, course. Cheers.” Callum says, giving Ben a careful stare. He waits for the sound of Stuart’s retreating footsteps to fade into silence before continuing.

“Look, Ben. I get you want revenge, I do. Believe me there are some things I wish I could do, some people I wish I could..” he pauses, breathing deeply. “That ain’t the way, alright? Cause if you do that, then you’re the same as them and the cycle keeps going. You have to do something else. You have to break the cycle if you wanna have a hope in hell of moving on with your life.”

“And what if I can’t? what if it’s too late?” Ben asks, his voice small.

A brief look of anguish floods Callum's face, before it's replaced by a sad smile. “It took me almost 30 years to start living my life for me. To break away from the people telling me to do this and do that, the people who told me I was wrong for being who I am. If I can do it, you can.” He's staring at Ben with a warmth and tenderness that would usually make Ben recoil and run. But here, now, caught in Callum's orbit it gives Ben hope. Just a tiny glimmer, but it's start. 

“You have no idea what I have to deal with. It ain’t just this it’s my family, everything.”

“You think I don’t? Ben it would be a mistake to go through life thinking that people are the sum total of what you see.”

Ben nods, slightly taken aback by Callum’s words. Ben hides so much from everyone, doesn’t let anyone get too close, know the real him. He’s not sure even he knows the real him anymore, or maybe that’s self-preservation. Pretending he doesn’t know who he is because the truth is he knows exactly who he is, and he doesn’t like it.

But Callum’s right, he can’t assume he knows everything about someone from what they show, he’d be stupid to think that people don’t hide stuff away like he does. Ben’s not a stupid man, but he’s never cared much for others, outside of himself and his family not much else really matters, and he now realises that that may have lead to him not having as much of a handle on how the world works as he thought. Yes, people hide things, maybe not as much as him, maybe more, and he has a sneaking suspicion that the man across from his is just as guilty as himself when it comes to hiding his true self from the world, but unlike Ben, the real, unadulterated Callum would make the world a better place. 

“You can come upstairs… if you want?” Callum asks hesitantly.

“No.” He clears his throat, snapping back to himself quickly. “Sorry, but no. I can’t go up there. He—he… used to live there.”

Callum’s eyes are wide as he nods in understanding. “Well, I can take you somewhere else? Or home?”

“What, you still want that round 2?” The words fall flat the moment they leave his mouth, and Ben wants to disappear into oblivion. “Sorry.” He winces, “my head is..”

“All over the place, I know.” Callum finishes with a small, understanding smile. He reaches forward and places his hand softly on Ben’s knee, giving a little squeeze as he speaks, “it’s alright, you make all the jokes, do what ever you need to cope.” Callum smiles softy, sincerity leaking from every smile line in his face. Ben has never felt so seen, so exposed, and he’s never felt so ok with it either. At ease with someone looking at him and seeing more than the blue eyes that scream he’s a Mitchell, a bruised face or a hearing aid. Callum holds him so gently in his gaze and Ben can’t help but feel safe in it.

“Don’t tell Jack I said this, but I reckon you get a bit of a free pass right now, don’t you?” He adds with what Ben thinks is meant to be a wink but comes out as a weird blink, Callum’s face scrunching up in his attempt.

Ben can’t help the soft smile that spreads on his lips, bar Lexi’s dancing around the kitchen it’s the cutest thing he’s seen in a long time. An East-End copper edging towards his thirties not being able to wink, made even more charming by the fact that he still tries anyway. A warmth takes refuge in Ben’s chest, warming the icy throws of panic and grief before he remembers where he is, why he’s here. 

A sudden wave of nausea floods him at the realisation of what he’s doing, what he’s _feeling._ He’s sat here, almost directly underneath the bedroom of his dead boyfriend making kissy faces to some bloke he barely knows and pretending there aren’t butterflies with hard hats on having a rave in his stomach. He shakes his head, he needs to get a grip.

“I best be off then. Taken up way too much of your time already.” Ben blurts quickly, moving quickly to stand, and Callum’s hand drops limply to the floor. He watches as Ben gets up, a little unsteady on his feet and that’s when the tiredness hits him. His head is throbbing, and his eyes feel like they’re on fire but he keeps going, Callum watching forlornly as Ben walks out the door. He staggers at first, it morphing into something that better resembles a walk by the time he gets to the market, at the end of which he doesn’t turn left into Ian’s, instead he goes right, into the welcoming arms of Queen Victoria herself.

He needs a drink. 

It’s a couple of hours later when he’s stumbling back to Ian’s, after Mick kicked him out for causing trouble. He still had a concerned look in his eyes though, pretending like he actually cares, the prick.

It’s not something he likes to admit unless it’s to boast to his friends, but now, sat alone at Ian’s dining room table, grazes on his arm and knee from where he fell over in the 10 feet between the Vic and Ian’s back door he can admit it; he’s drunk. Not ‘having a jolly out with my mates’ drunk; he’s hammered. The ‘desperate flow of alcohol past his lips never being enough to silence the noise’ drunk. He sits, motionless except the gentle yet uncontrolled sway that comes with intoxication, staring numbly at the table.

It might have been minutes, hours or maybe seconds. It might have been 4 years of pain and anger and dare he say healing and suddenly everything’s being dragged up again. He doesn’t know how long he’s been sat there when he hears a voice, quiet and tentative.

“Daddy..?” Lexi is stood on the third step from the bottom, too unsure to come any closer. She’s clutching her pink unicorn toy close to her chest and her voice is more timid than Ben has ever heard her sound. It grates on his ears. She should never sound like that; _he_ should never be the reason she sounds like that.

“G- go upstairs P-princess” he slurs, giving her what he hopes is a smile but from the shocked look on her face he misses the mark big time.

There are tears in his daughter’s eyes and he moves towards her, to soothe her and tell her everything will be ok, but when he stands the room spins and he falls back into his seat with a thud.

“Lexi? What are you doing up?” Lola comes down the stairs, surprised to see her daughter. She looks past Lexi to Ben, and her face falls momentarily to a blank expression that is quickly replaced by a look of guarded anger.

“Come on darlin’ let’s get you back to bed.” She scoops up her daughter, shooting Ben a disgusted look before disappearing up the stairs.

The stairs creak as Lola comes back down. It could have been a couple of minutes, it could have been an hour, Ben doesn’t know but either way he’s still at the table, trapped in this hell hole. Not that that gives any indication to how much time has passed. He’s been in the same hell hole for 24 years and counting so far.

“What is wrong with you?” her tone is harsh and accusatory, louder than it should be for this time of night in a packed-out house. “Not in front of Lexi, Ben. Not in front of my daughter.” Her voice shakes but it’s not with anger or fear, it’s with conviction, a fierce protection for her daughter. If only his own mum had fought for his safety half as hard as Lola does when it had mattered. Maybe he wouldn’t be sitting here right now. Maybe he would.

“They have new evidence” the words trickle out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“What? Who does?”

“The bobbies.” Ben laughs humourlessly. “They’re gonna catch ‘im.”

“Catch who Ben? You’re not making any sense.”

“Je—Jeremy. Jeremy Davies.” He’s overcome by a sudden fit of rage. That man’s name on his lips, hearing it out loud in the house his daughter sleeps in makes bile rise in his throat and bangs his fist on the table, Lola glancing towards the stairs.

“Who? Ben are you alright?” Lola urges, concern now replacing anger.

Ben scoffs and a high-pitched shrill sound escapes directly from his throat. 

“They found Paul’s other killer. And they want my help to get him.”

“What?! How?” Ben doesn’t answer, just shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head, clueless, because he’s been asking himself the _same fucking questions_ all day.

“Alright well this is good ain’t it? You can help them get him and move on.”

Ben stares resolutely at the table, his lips pressed together, every muscle in his face tense because he can feel the next onslaught of tears coming and he needs to keep them in. “I can’t… I can’t help them. I just can’t do it. I- I can’t relive it again. They have my statement from before, they don’t need me now.”

“They do Ben. They wouldn’t be asking you if they didn’t.”

“I can’t” he breathes as the first tear slowly falls from his eye. He drops his head quickly, bringing his hands to his face and raking them over his skin repeatedly.

Lola moves round to face him, taking his hands in her own and pulling them away from his face. “Look Ben I can’t imagine how hard this is for you. I know how much you loved Paul and having all this dragged up again must be torture.” She’s speaking in her soothing mum voice she uses when Lexi can’t get to sleep. Ben wants to feel patronised by it, scream at her that he’s not a kid, but he can’t, not when it makes him feel better than he has all day.

“What happened to Paul was absolutely disgusting but Ben, it happened to _you_ too. Being attacked for being with the man you love, that’s fucked up! And I know it still affects you.” She moves one of her hands to his face just in time to catch a tear as it spills over and slides down his cheek.

“I know you just wanna drink the days away right now to numb the pain like you did before but Ben, you can’t. Things are different now, you have responsibilities. Lexi needs you, you can’t just shut down.”

She moves his head up so he’s meeting her eyes, her grip on his face loving yet firm and Ben can see a fraction of his own heartbreak mirrored in her eyes.

“And if there’s one thing..” she bites her lip, unsure if she should continue. “One last thing you can do for Paul it’s this. Help the police however you can to make sure that last bastard is locked away for life.” Ben’s powerless to the tears that are now flowing freely out of him, unable to do much but let himself be washed away by the river of grief.

Once the tears subside and he’s left with red skin, stinging eyes, shame and Lola’s words he nods slowly, realising that she’s right, he can do this for Paul. He needs to, no matter what the cost is to him. In all his life, he’s never felt more complete than he did with Paul, and if getting justice for the man he loved breaks him entirely then so be it. He nods more vigorously, like his conviction alone will do anything. He registers the moment of clarity and calm, of a decision made, before erupting into a fresh burst of tears.

“I miss him so much” he cries into Lola’s shoulder, soaking her top that turns translucent under the weight of Ben’s sorrow.

“I know you do; I know.” Lola brings him into her arms, stroking his hair and cooing words of comfort into his ear as he sobs his heart out.


	4. The Holy Trinity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the gap in posting, life has been a bit funky lately and my anxiety has been kicking my arse a bit and as a result I’ve not been feeling doing anything and unfortunately that includes writing. I’m feeling a bit better now though and felt an urge to write yesterday so I went with it! Hopefully that lasts and I’ve got a fair chunk of the next chapter written so hopefully that won’t be up in too long. 
> 
> This chapter is a bit lighter than the last, I think with my current situation I needed to write something a bit less heavy so here we are, hopefully it's ok.
> 
> Also fair warning- I got a bit carried away in the notes at the end with my thoughts on the current storyline on the show, apologies in advance. 
> 
> I hope you're all keeping well and thanks for reading :)
> 
> tw: there's a brief mention of Jack and Ronnie's baby that passed away, and obviously talk of Paul's case/ murder but nothing graphic or detailed in this chapter.

“You’re ‘avin a laugh, ain’t ya? You’d rather have an Aston Martin than a Lambo?!” 

“What can I say mate, an Aston Martin has a certain class about it- a prestige of you will, its timeless- a Lamborghini, storm in a teacup if you ask me.”

“Are you serious? Lambo’s are classic!” Jay effectively shouts, his pupils are wide and the rosy flush synonymous with intoxication stains his fair cheeks.

“Deadly, you wouldn’t see James Bond rolling around in a Lambo would ya?"

“No” Jay says, the merry smile slipping from his face.

“Exactly.” Ben says, draining his glass. “All about the class, me.” Ben smirks, and he expects another quip from Jay, a fed-up eye roll at the least, but he receives no such reprimand. He’s probably, too drunk, Jay never has been great at holding his drink, probably because a stick insect has more meat on it’s bones than him. Or maybe it’s just that Ben has learned over the years how to hold his liquor, has found that place, the only place Ben has ever truly felt was his own, between merry drunk and completely wasted that allows him to get with some random bloke for a few hours and pretend it makes him feel better. Ben’s had to be half cut for every hookup he’s had since Paul died, all but one.

It's been just over two weeks since Ben was told about the reopening on Paul’s case and so far, he’s heard nothing more from Jack or Callum.

Callum.

It’s been over two weeks since their night together and thoughts of it still come back to him at random moments. The look in his eyes when he asked Ben to go all the way, the sound of his short desperate breaths and muffles cries of pleasure, sometimes Ben can still feel Callum’s body against his, Callum's phantom touch replacing a lonesome reality.

It's also been two weeks since his breakdown to Lola, and he feels a lot better for it, a whole lot lighter after unloading some of the horrors he's been carrying around with him since the night Paul died. Life has gone back to pretty much normal, taking Lexi to school, overseeing work at the Arches and keeping the car lot ticking over nicely. Him and Jay have been spending more time together too, nights like this used to be a rarity, but they’re making more time for each other as of late and Ben loves it. Ben is feeling more himself than he has in months, he never thought he’d be happy to be back in Walford and surrounded by his family but he is, just so long as his family doesn’t include Phil.

“I’m really proud of ya, you know that right?” Jay says, clapping Ben on the shoulder, his eyes suddenly clearer than they’ve been in half an hour.

“What?”

“All this stuff with Paul’s case, that Davies bloke. I know it’s been hard for ya, I can’t even imagine mate, but I think you’re handling it really well."

“You’re drunk.” Ben tries to brush it off but the truth is it’s nice that Jay recognises that he’s doing better. For someone who always pretends to have all the answers, Ben rarely knows that day it is.

But he _is_ doing better, even he can see that. He’s never really thought he’s had much of a family, sure, there’s all the shit that comes with being a Mitchell but that was always more of a burden than a support network. But since coming back, since Paul’s case was reopened and since Phil has been out of his life, Ben has finally found a family in his mum, Jay, Lola and Lexi. Their support is getting him through something that should have sent him into one of the biggest tailspins of his life, but here he is, still standing.

Although he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t another person who was helping to keep him sane. He and Callum have taken to having little chats in the Square when they happen to see each other. At first it would be Ben asking how the case is going, or Callum giving him updates where he really didn’t say anything at all, Ben suspected it was just Callum finding an excuse to talk to him; he can only hope that Callum is as far gone as he is. But then it changed, started becoming more frequent to the point where their conversations were happening daily.

Ben would come to look forward to his little conversation with Callum in the square, even if it was just a thirty second exchange where Callum would spend most of the time looking over his shoulder, making sure they weren’t being watched by Jack or one of his underlings. But after a little while he would tune in, forgetting the rest of the world and be Ben’s, making him feel better instantly with his nervous ramblings and sweet nature and Ben would always walk away from their chat already looking forward to their next one, ignoring the nervous energy in his tummy that grew each time he looked into those electric blue eyes.

The same eyes and his dimples that fill the dark, fathomless pit that forms when Ben closes his eyes at night. Thoughts of strong, sturdy arms that he imagines must feel like the safest place in the world to be wrapped in. But he doesn’t have to imagine, he _knows_ the feeling of being in those arms. The memory makes his hair stand on end.

“Ben, hello?” Jay says loudly, clicking in front of Ben’s face.

“Sorry mate, must have drifted somewhere.” _Blue eyes and soft hair, dimples and cute ears._

“I said I have to go, Lo will be on at me if I’m late home again.”

“Ah, the old ball and chain, right?” Ben laughs, “I’ll see ya later brother.”

“See ya.” Ben watches Jay’s retreating form, stares at the door of the Vic for a while after Jay left through it. Watching it open and close as people trickle in and out, old horrors being brought back to the surface, barely having time to sink back down before the next onslaught arrives. 

Ben stretches, his arms reaching wide as a loud yawn rips from him. He leans forward with a sigh, thankfully some of the tension has left his body and he feels like he can _move_ again. He contemplates staying in the pub for a bit, doing some people watching and thinking about how god awful the people of Albert Square truly are, but then he sees the karaoke machine being wheeled out and knows instantly he needs to run for cover.

As he stands he realises something- he needs a piss. He sighs, grabbing his jacket and crossing the pub to the toilets. When he turns the corner of the bar what he is greeted by is a sight for sore eyes. Callum Highway, propped, literally _propped_ up on the bar, nursing what is absolutely _not_ his first beer of the night, staring into it like he’s expecting it to sprout legs and run away if he takes his eyes off it.

A soft smile forms on Ben’s lips, one that for once, he doesn’t wipe off the second is appears.

“Alright?”

Callum visibly jumps, turning to the source of the noise before breaking out into a massive grin “BEN!” He shouts, bringing Ben in for a hug, his body is tense, but he manages to bring one of his hands up and pat Callum on the back a couple of times.

“Mick, chuck us a glass of water will ya?” Ben says, nodding his head toward Callum.

“Coming right up my son,” Mick calls, sliding the glass to Ben.

“Ta,” Ben hands the glass to Callum who stares between it and Ben, wide eyed. “Well drink up then.” Callum nods with apologetic enthusiasm, raising the glass briefly before putting it to his lips and all but draining it in a couple of gulps. Ben feels his eyes being drawn to Callum’s throat, watching it bob up and down as he drinks, Ben licks his lips, remembering what he’s done to the neck before. Fuck.

“Enjoying my last night of freedom.” Callum says when Ben continues to stare.

“Freedom? What, you getting married or something?” Ben asks, trying to keep the panic away from his voice.

“Nah, nah. Been there, done that, got the very expensive t-shirt.” Callum shakes his head, sharing a look with Mick that Ben ignores, outwardly at least.

“What’s all this last night of freedom about then?”

In an instant, Callum’s eyes have cleared, he leans his upper body forward just a little, his hand on Ben’s elbow as he utters a “come with me” in a low voice. They settle at a table tucked away in the corner next to the dart board, its more private, secluded, and Callum kept his hand on Ben’s elbow the whole five steps it took to get there.

“It’s Davies, I know him.” Callum announces the second they sit down.

“What?!”

“We went to school together. I didn’t know him well, barely at all, we had a couple of classes together. Think I said a total of 2 words to him in five years.” He takes another drink of his water, if anyone else was drinking it the glass would be empty by now, but not Callum. He takes his time, leaves a little bit in the glass, always has something left for anyone who might need it.

“Ok, so you literally just went to school with him, hardly best buddies are ya?” Ben thinks out loud, relieved that Callum has nothing to do with Davies.

“My thoughts exactly, but Jack seems to think our connection is some amazing breakthrough. You should’ve seen him when I recognised Davies, thought he was gonna piss himself at one point.” Ben exhales a laugh, and Callum looks taken aback, “I shouldn’t drink this much.”

“You’re alright. I won’t tell Jack if you don’t” Ben reassures him with a wink before getting back to the task at hand. “I’m still not seeing how this relates to your freedom though?"

“Jack wants me to get in with Davies, he’s thinking of putting on a high school reunion to get us back together ‘organically’” his eye roll accompanies the air quotes perfectly.

“Get in with him?"

“Yeah, become his mate, get info about his whereabouts, who he sees, try to get some intel on the drug ring.”

“What like, undercover?”

“Ish. I’ll still be me, obviously, he knows Callum Highway, not some random bloke. And I’ll still be involved in the case, at briefings and stuff.”

“So.. you’re an informant?” Ben says slowly, piecing it all together.

“Sounds a bit CSI but sure, I’m an informant.” Callum nods.

“So hang on, let me get this right. Jack Branning wants you, a gay man, to get all pally pally with a man we know has _killed_ someone solely for the fact he was gay, just to get some information about some drug dealing?” Ben’s voice raises without his permission, his feet press firmly against the rung of the bar stool needing to find some release of the anger building in him at Jack’s callous regard for Callum’s safety.

“Ben, it ain’t that simple.”

“How so?” He fires back, venom intended for Jack landing instead on Callum, making his face fall.

“It’s… complicated.” He sighs, dropping his head in a way that tells Ben Callum might just share some of his doubts.

“Try me.”

Callum freezes, his eyes finding Bens and locking on to them like a lifeline. He’s conflicted, Ben can tell, teetering on the edge of his loyalty to his job and loyalty to…what? Ben? Either way, Ben can’t stop himself being sucked in, he’d be captivated by Callum’s eyes no matter what he was hiding behind them. Callum opens his mouth, a hint of conviction replacing the uncertainty in his eyes before he drops his head, losing eye contact with Ben and restoring the busy pub around them that had faded to background noise.

“No”

“Why not?”

“I’ve already said too much, ok? You didn’t hear none of this from me but there’s a briefing tomorrow morning, Jack’s gonna call you in and tell you about this. Act surprised, ok?”

“Cal-“

“See you, Ben.” Callum grabs his coat and stands, stumbling a little but quickly finding his feet. He gives a quick wave to Mick before hotfooting it out the pub, not giving Ben the chance to get another word in and leaving him alone in a room full of people.

Ben hums quietly to some pop song blasting on the radio as he finishes buttering his daughter’s toast. He’s never been a morning person, but he woke up this morning with a spring in his step, not even Jack texting him at 7:30am telling him to come to a briefing at 10 soured his mood. Callum had already warned him about the briefing and he knows there won’t be any surprises. He takes Lexi’s breakfast to her, the princess poised and ready, sitting at the head of Ian’s dining room table.

“Here you go, my lady”

“Thanks dad!” She sings, bobbing her head along to the song and shoving the toast in her mouth, maybe she’s not so regal when food is put infront of her.

“Honestly Kathy, I just… don’t get it?” Lola says as her and Kathy enter the back door.

“Get what? Wait, where’ve you been?” Ben asks.

“Café, kettle’s packed up and I wanted a cuppa. Here,” Kathy clarifies, handing Ben a paper cup of tea.

“Cheers”

“I don’t get why your smoking hot mum ever got with your deadbeat dad.” Lola says, gesturing to Kathy like she’s unveiling a piece of art.

Lexi finishes he toast and proudly presents Ben her empty plate, he gives her hair a ruffle- when she quickly fixes- and signals for her to brush her teeth, not wanting to interrupt his mum and Lola’s early morning banter.

“Oh, leave off.” Kathy giggles, “I’ll have you know that Phil Mitchell was quite the catch in his day.”

“When was that? 1853?” Lola chimes.

“Oh you cheeky mare!”

“Mother, I am a gay man who let’s face it, ain’t fussy. But I’ve racked my brains many _many_ times and I cannot, for the life of me, understand what made you look at Phil Mitchell and think ‘yeah, I wanna sleep with _that’,_ let alone marry the guy!”

Kathy stares at her son, bemused, “funny thing is _son_ , most people don’t want to sleep with their fathers, gay or not.”

He hears Lola spluttering behind him, choking on her tea at the very moment Lexi comes bounding down the stairs, a small dot of toothpaste on her cheek, running to her mum’s aid and slapping her on the back with all her might. 

‘Mummy are you ok?’ She cries, worried.

‘Yeah, yeah darling I’m fine", she soothes her daughter. "The tea was just very _hot."_ She says, giving Ben the side eye to make sure he caught the meaning. Kathy looks between them, mystified. 

"Have I missed something?" 

"Nah mum, just young people talk, you won’t get it." he jibes, kissing her on the cheek. 

‘Oh you little sod!’ She exclaims, hitting him on the shoulder. 

“Daddy! Don’t call nanny old, its mean!”

“Yeah Ben, listen to your daughter. She’s got much better manners than you.”

“Oi, you know Lex, calling someone old ain’t always mean. Its just a way to describe them. You see, a lady over a certain age—”

“Ben Mitchell stop talking now if you know what’s good for ya.” Kathy warns.

“Yeah, shut up Ben. Besides, that ain’t the best example. See Lex, calling daddy a drama queen, that’s a description”.

“Yeah, whatever,” Ben relents, deciding to save his energy for a bigger fight.

Lexi sighs dramatically, “grown-ups” before picking up her pink sparkly unicorn toy and flopping onto the sofa, placing the unicorn next to her so it can see the tv, settling herself in for an episode of her favourite cartoon. 

“Five minutes, you. We need to go soon.” Lola tells Lexi, before looking at her phone and jumping to her feet, all but running into the hallway to make a phone call.

“Broadband company, trying to get it back up and running at dad’s.” Ben answers Kathy’s puzzled look.

“Fair enough. I best be getting back to the café, Marie was already struggling with the morning rush when I got these.” She says, holding up her cup. “See you later darling!” she calls to Lexi who shoots her a smile, eyes still fixed on the tv. “See you later” she repeats to her son, kissing him on the cheek.

Ben sighs, taking a seat at the table when he hears his mum’s voice again. “Oh yeah, he’s just through there. Ben! Someone here for you!” she calls.

“Hi Ben.” Ben stills, his ears pricking slightly and his stomach flipping. 

“Callum.” He breathes, darting his eyes to his daughter and remebering that Callum hasn't been in this house since _that night_. 

“Who are you?” Lexi has clearly decided that Callum is more interesting than her cartoon, having wondered over to inspect the intruder.

“Oh, er…hello. I’m Callum.” He smiles, giving Ben a cautious side glance.

“I’m Lexi. This is my daddy, are you his friend?” Lexi asks, getting to the point in the way only kids do and adults really should. 

“Um, yeah? Yeah I’m your dad’s friend.” Callum says, the tips of his ears burning.

“That’s good. He doesn’t have many of them. Except uncle Jay and mummy.” Lexi confirms, a slight sadness in her voice.

“Oi you!” Ben’s tone is joking but he really doesn’t need his daughter outing him as a hermit to Callum of all people.

“It was nice to meet you Callum.” Lexi says, reaching her hand out to shake Callum’s hand. He laughs, shooting Ben a look of pure joy that’s utterly _adorable_ and shakes Lexi’s hand enthusiastically, her small hand being totally lost in Callum's.

“And you, Lexi.” She smiles brightly, moving to be close to her dad’s ear where she whispers loud enough for Callum to hear “I like him daddy, he can be your friend.”

“Thank you baby,” he whispers back, bumping her nose with his. “Go on then, upstairs and get your bookbag or you’ll be late for school.” She nods, making a beeline for the stairs and crashing up them loudly.

“Ben, she’s adorable.” Callum says, his eyes sparkling and something in Ben feels just a little bit more whole again.

“Yeah, she is.” He smiles, Lexi really is the best of him. “You here to make sure I go to the briefing? Jack texted this morning.”

“No, actually. I ain’t going, got something else to attend to. Look, I er.. I wanted to apologise. For last night. I had a bit too much and I got a bit carried away. I’m sorry.”

“It’s no problem. I think I'd be freaking out too a bit of I had to get close to a murdering homophobe.”

“Yeah but still. It was unprofessional and I shouldn’t have-“

“BELLEND!” Lola turns the corner back into the living room, shouting into her phone, enraged. She quickly deflates, a look of unadulterated panic on her face “oh god, I’d hung up right?” she cries, frantically tapping her phone screen like that’s going to answer her question and wondering back into the hallway.

“Broadband company. They’re always wankers. We’re trying to get my dad’s house up and running again, when I got back everything had been cut off. It’s all back now except the broadband.” Ben offers by way of explanation and Callum nods, seemingly taking a mental note to not get on the wrong side of Lola.

“Daddyyy” Lexi drones, sauntering into the room. “What’s a bell-“

“Uh- right princess let’s get you to school” Ben cuts in, panic edging his voice. He sweeps forward, lifting his daughter into the air and sends a look to Callum that says _thank fuck I dodged that bullet_. He stares back wide eyed and pale, clearly sharing the sentiment.

Despite Ben swearing like a sailor and Lola starting to pick up on his bad habit, despite Ian constantly chastising that its ‘not becoming for a woman to say such things’ they do try to watch their language in front of their daughter. Of course, sometimes the odd word slips through or she catches the odd middle finger being thrown between them, but Ben had thought she’d have been out of earshot for Lola’s outburst. Clearly not. Kids, ay?

“But it’s not time to go yet, look, the big hand is on the 3, I don’t have to be at school until the big hand is on the 8.” Lexi says with her trademark conviction, shoving her pink unicorn watch in Ben’s face.

“I know baby, but we can stop off on the way and get you a bun from nan, yeah? Just don’t tell your mum. And don’t ask any more questions “ He adds under his breath, catching Callum’s eye who shoots him a gentle smile.

“Well I best get on” Callum says. “I’ll see you Ben. Nice to meet you Lexi!” He smiles widely at her, waving.

“Nice to meet you Callum. Come back anytime, daddy needs more friends.”

Ben lets out loud yawn as he steps out of the police station. The Briefing lasted over 2 hours and it was boring as fuck. It was just a load of old men repeating the same tiny pieces of information that barely scratched the surface of what Callum had told him last night. He gets his phone out of his pocket to call a cab, the station isn’t far from the Square but he’s knackered, wound up, the frustration of being dragged into this case and being told barely any information is starting to get to him and he doesn’t trust himself not to punch someone on the Tube when they inevitably get too close. Why don’t people understand the prospect of personal space on public transport?

‘Oi, Mitchell.” _For fuck_ _sake._ “What did ya think of the briefing?” Jack asks,

“Fascinating, I loved hearing that you’re gonna wait to arrest the guy that killed my boyfriend over and over again”

Jack huffs, rolling his eyes. “Right, you know the plan Ben.”

“I know a very very small part of the plan.”

“You know what you need to.”

“What was the point in getting mee in here, making me relive all of this if you’re not gonna tell me anything?”

“Like you said, this is traumatic enough for you Ben, you don’t need to know all the gory details.” Jack pats him on the shoulder patronisingly, turning to leave.

“There was one interesting thing though,” Ben calls after him.

“Oh yeah?” Jack sighs, “what’s that then?”

“No PC Highway?”

“No. He’s on other business today.” Jack says curtly, his eyes narrowing a fraction in suspicion.

“Other business, right, right. You said you had a way to get info from Davies. Would Callum happen to have anything to do with that by any chance?”

“That’s none of your business, Ben. Look, I know your game, Callum’s a good guy so keep your claws out, alright?"

"And what’s game is that exactly?" Ben asks, his face a picture of innocence.

"Your twisted Mitchell game. You suck people in and ruin them. You lot ain’t good for anyone". True, but he’s not having _Jack fucking Branning_ saying that. 

"Right, and tell me, PC Hypocrite, how come my ‘lot’ was good enough for you when you was shacked up with my aunt, or my cousin, or my _other_ cousin?" 

Jack snorts, "it’s DI" 

"Wow, _that’s_ what you correct me on? And I thought I was a fucking egomaniac. Two of your little herd of offspring are half Mitchell after you knocked up Roxy and Sam. And the other one you married. And let’s not forget you and Ronnie had a baby too.”

“I loved Ronnie, she was the love of my life.”

“And a Mitchell, one of the strongest of the lot.” Jack deflates a little at that, it was a low blow, bringing up his dead wife and son, but it’s rare that Jack has a chink in his armour, almost as rare as Ben having one, and Ben’s an opportunist of there ever was one.

“We just need your help, Ben.”

“You need my help to make _you_ look good, solve this monster case for you. That's all this is to you Jack, some big win for your career. But this is my life, Paul's legacy, and I ain't gonna let you make this about you. You know what, DI Dickhead? I’d rather shit in my hands and clap than help _you_ with anything.” Ben smirks, jutting his chin in an act of defiance.

Jack moves in close, nose to nose, grabbing Ben’s shirt in his fists “you know what, Ben-” he starts, but he’s cut off by his phone ringing in his pocket.

“Ooh, saved by the bell! Probably for the best, this was about to get very embarrassing for you” Ben laughs hysterically, leaning further into Jack’s face. He pushes him back roughly, staring him down for a few moments until Jack answers his phone and Ben storms off, done with Jack’s bullshit.

“Go on then, spill.” Lola says, bursting into the café and plonking herself in a chair opposite Ben, stripping her scarf and coat off roughly, Jay trailing behind and sitting next to her.

Ben sighs, already mourning his peace and quiet. “Elaborate…?”

“You and officer tall dark and handsome, there’s clearly something going on there.” She says matter of factly, and suddenly Ben knows where Lexi gets it from. Lola grabs his cup of tea and takes a big gulp. “Ugh! How much sugar is in that?!”

“Serves you right for taking what ain’t yours. And you need to chill out with this 'tall dark and handsome' stuff, you er.. ain't really his type. Speaking of Callum, there’s nothing going on.”

“Ha! Come on mate. Even I've noticed it.” Jay pipes up.

“There ain't." Ben lies, "just a poorly timed one night stand is all.” Ben mumbles into his tea, uncharacteristically sheepish. 

Jay just laughs, shaking his head.

“I knew it!” Lola erupts. Before adding “poorly or perfectly?” in her all-knowing tone, clearly very interested in Ben’s love life.

“Relax Lo, it ain’t the Notebook.” Clearly that was the wrong thing to say, because a shit eating grin forms on Lola’s face and she looks like she’s about to explode.

"Chill, Lo. Just 'cos hey bumped uglies don't mean you can start picking out a bridesmaid dress for Lex." 

"Uh, ugly? Speak for yourself mate." Ben smirks, earning a look of digust from his brother. 

“Alright," Lola plants her hands on the table, silencing the two men like a judge with a gavel. "I know I’m pushing my luck here, so I ain’t gonna say nothing about you knowing what the Notebook is. But… I will say that its interesting how talk of Callum makes you reference the greatest rom com OF ALL TIME!” Lola exclaims, much too loudly for what _was_ a relatively quiet café. A few of the punters turn to see what all the fuss is about, and Kathy shoots Ben a questioning look from behind the counter.

“Wow” Jay recoils. 

“Don’t worry everyone, the mother of my child is just getting a bit over excited about me bedding a bloke. Nothing to see here, get back your knitting.” Ben calls in his most charming voice, with an air of addressing his public. 

“Oh, piss off Ben, you know I’m right.” Lola hisses before hauling herself up and leaving, giving Kathy a kiss on the cheek on her way out.

“Jesus, she needs to get out more.” Ben remarks. 

“Leave off, shes just happy for ya. Besides, it’s so _you_ to be banging the officer on your case.” Jay scoffs, amused by Ben's situation. 

“Yeah yeah, whatever.”

Jay rolls his eyes, “so, you like him then?”

“Who?” Ben questions, his look of innocence contrasting to the expression of annoyance on Jay’s face perfectly.

“You know who.”

“He’s alright I suppose.” Ben answers, he tries to give a cocky smirk but he can't quite land it, instead he feels a wave of self-consciousness wash over him, a guilt root itself in his gut.

“Its alright you know, to move on. Paul would get it, he’d want you to.” Jay says softly, apparently reading Ben's mind. Jay reaches out to place his hand on top of his brother’s. They don’t touch much, usually only a bone crushing hug either when Ben is about to go on the run or when he returns, much like the one they shared in this very place recently. But when they do Ben always finds great comfort in it, it’s one of the rare good things that Ben just lets himself have, he doesn’t question it or push it away.

Despite that, he still wants to argue, deny any feelings he might have for Callum, deny all knowledge of the man’s existence. He wants to scream at Jay, shout in his face with all the vitriol he can muster _what would you know what Paul would want? How do you know he’d be ok with it?_

But he doesn’t. Because he can’t. Because Jay’s right, it what Paul would want and it has been four years and if anyone would know that Paul would want Ben to move on other than Ben himself or Les or Pam it would be Jay.

Instead, he gives a small, shaky nod, rising wordlessly and placing his hand on Jays shoulder. He gives it a tight squeeze, that's not for Jay and they both know it, before ducking his head and leaving.

When Ben steps outside the café, he’s surprised to see that night has fallen but that’s how it is in winter. One moment its sunrise and the next its pitch black, it makes the days feel shorter, more bearable. It’s probably the reason winter is Ben’s favourite season. He breathes in, letting the frosty air cleanse him, neutralise some of the adrenaline he’s had coursing through him since this all started.

He starts walking, he’s not sure of his destination but he’ll never know now, because he spots Callum, coat collar up against the cold and hands tucked into his pockets, walking quickly towards a waiting car and Ben springs into action, running over to the car lot and grabbing the first set of keys he can find and a gun from the safe, tucking it under his waistband before he can tell himself what a terrible idea it is. He jumps into a relatively new VW Golf and follows the car, if his hunch is right then the officer driving Callum’s car will know when they’re being tailed so he has to play this one carefully.

They’ve been driving for just over half an hour when the unmarked police car pulls into a residential side road. Poky houses with a look of being ex-council line the street, only just set back from the pavement which is illuminated by a couple of bright white streetlights that make Ben’s eyes burn. There must be seven or eight streetlights littering the street but only two work, one at either end of the road, leaving the middle dark and eerie, only lit by the moonlight and tiny pockets of light filtering out from the small, uniformly placed windows of the houses.

Ben’s never been here before, but he knows exactly where he is, knows that the man who killed Paul lives in one of these houses. The second he saw Callum tonight he knew exactly where he would lead him. 

Callum gets out of the car which lingers for a moment before it drives away. Ben pulls out of the road and parks a few feet into an adjacent street, out of Callum’s view. It’s a necessary move as to not arouse suspicion, but it does mean that he’s lost sight of Callum, too.

He’s positioned himself behind a wheelie bin in the darkened part of the street, it provides pretty good cover but he can’t see much, its almost pitch black without the streetlights and his eyesight leaves a lot to be desired at the best of times.

He feels something brush against his leg and has to bite at his bottom lip to stop him crying out, _it's just a cat, it's just a cat, it's just a fucking cat._

A cat that meows loudly at Ben’s presence, and Ben just catches sight of the figure walking up the path of a house some twenty feet ahead of him before it turns in Ben’s direction. He can’t see their eyes from this distance or in this light but he can feel them on him, he might as well have a fucking spotlight shining on him he’s so obvious.

He looks down for a second to shoo the cat away, but when he looks up the figure is gone. He’s not sure if it was Callum, _it was probably just a resident coming home after a long day_ he tells himself. Ben takes a deep breath, taking a second to watch how it clouds on his exhale, his breath floating in the freezing air.

In this moment, Ben feels like a prey animal, totally in tune with his surroundings. He feels the air go still, a presence behind him that makes his breath catch in his throat, his spine tingle and back straighten.

He feels a hand reach for his waistband, the cool metal of his gun against his skin as it's pulled free and he can't move, paralysed on the spot. 

What comes next happens so quickly that Ben would be taken of guard if he didn’t know the process so well. First, the stillness in the air, then it’s the localised circle of coolness that radiates towards the back of his skull, and then to cap off the holy trinity, the unmistakable click of a gun.

“Get in the Car.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are your thoughts on the current storyline with Callum/ Phil/ DI Thompson/Ben? Honestly, I’m not sure what to make of it, and don’t really know what side Callum’s on which I guess means they’re doing it right! I’m happy to see Callum getting his own storyline though and not just being a sideline to Ben and I think Tony is doing a great job.
> 
> I can’t help but feel a bit nervous though, I don’t see how Ben and Callum can come back from this when Ben inevitably finds out and feels betrayed. Plus, there have been a few departures announced and apparently there are more to come and I’m scared for Callum. I can’t help but feel like this storyline might end up in him leaving, whether that’s him (and hopefully Ben) going on the run, him ending up in prison himself or his death (maybe at Christmas??) either as a result of a PTSD storyline or at the hands of Phil/ Danny/ Ben (as heartbreaking as that would be, Ben being forced to kill Callum would be so interesting). Anyway, as you can tell I have a lot of conflicting feelings about this one but in summary I just don’t see it ending well for Ballum. 
> 
> (Also am I right in thinking that tonight Callum beat up Danny and got it all recorded on the device he put in the Arches? I’m sure that will come back to bite him…)
> 
> Oh and I liked the parallel of Ben seeing the blood on Callum’s sleeve today vs Callum seeing the blood on Ben’s shirt around Christmas last year after he’d beaten Jack up. 
> 
> Ok- I’m done now, sorry! Apologies for the mind dump here and thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I’d love to hear your thoughts and predictions for the current storyline so please feel free to leave a comment with your thoughts on the sl or the chapter (or both)!


	5. Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly let’s all laugh at me saying this chapter would be up soon because it was mostly written… I ended up rewriting most of it and had a bit of writer’s block and was busy doing birthday things with family and the time just ticked away- sorry!
> 
> This actually turned out very different to what I imagined this chapter would be, and there’s a lot more sad/ grieving Ben than I expected but it kind of wrote itself (blame me being in a funky mood and seeing a post on tumblr about Ben not dealing with Paul’s death). 
> 
> Also while I’m here I wanted to say thank you for reading and sticking with the story and my unpredictable posting. Your kudos and comments so far have been really encouraging and I went back and read through the comments again while I was struggling with this chapter and they gave me such a boost so thanks again for that 😊
> 
> Anyway, here it is, I hope you enjoy it and thanks so much for reading :)
> 
> tw: talk of Chris’ death which involves mention of a hit and run and drink driving, talk of Paul's death/ homophobia, brief mention of Ronnie's death and drug use and Ben’s struggling with grief for a bit of this chapter.

Ben’s throws his head back against the headrest of the passenger seat with a long, lung-emptying exhale. His hands are still shaking and all he can hear is his heartbeat in his ears but releasing even the tiniest bit of the nervous energy filling him up is a necessity or he’ll explode.

“Jesus, first you hold a gun to my head, now you’re stealing my car?” Ben huffs as Callum climbs into the driver’s seat and locks them in. It’s not an act of power, a desire to lock Ben up, keep him contained so he does as he’s told like he’s used to. No, its an act of caution; a police officer knows better than most the dangers of driving in unknown neighbourhoods at night. But the small smile he sends Ben, the softness in his eyes tells Ben his action is driven by something else, autopilot maybe, but it’s underpinned with a desire to do what so few have done for Ben before, Callum wants to _protect_ him.

Ben moves to do up his seat belt, his fingers catching on the cool metal of the buckle. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, squeezing the metal tight in his fist, hoping to transfer some of the energy bolting through him into it, to anything that’s not him. He thinks back to mere moments ago, where he could feel the ghost of the gun barrel against his skull, how adrenaline shot through him like someone had injected him with it, how he was ready, _so ready_ for a fight when in his mind there was no doubt that it was Davies behind him.

But in his readiness for a fight he found Callum’s eyes staring back at him once again and they did what Ben had thought until recently to be impossible; calm the fire within him, make him step back and realise that _this isn’t worth it_. Through one misfortune or another Ben’s found himself in these fight or flight situations more than he’d like, and until tonight he’s always been a fighter. It’s always been his downfall.

Sat in the safety of the car, of Callum’s presence Ben can breathe again. Now the dust has somewhat settled and any threat of immediate danger is gone, he has time to think about what just happened; the way something primal took over him when he was certain he was going to see Davies, the simultaneous slip of dread and surge of adrenaline through him at the feel of the gun against his skin. The relief when he recognised Callum’s voice, the way he took charge, the feeling of his fingers, rough yet soft against Ben’s pulse point as he led him back to the car, his firm grip setting something deep in Ben alight against his better judgement. Even though it sounds ridiculous, Ben can’t deny it; he was pretty turned on by the whole event.

“I had to get you to come quietly.” Callum states like his sentence isn’t the slightest bit provocative.

Oh, he is _so_ not helping.

“God, do you know how much I could do with that?” Ben gapes, he’s not sure of Callum is actually oblivious to the things he says or feigns innocence with a quiet confidence. Ben doesn’t know which is more endearing.

“Oh leave off! Besides, I ain’t stealing it, I’ve got the owner’s permission.”

“It’s from the lot, I don’t own it. It doesn’t have an owner.” Callum’s smug smile fades into a look of worry, Ben can see the cogs turning inside his head, calibrating his response.

“Alright well, you’re here, you’re ok with it. Right?”

Ben scoffs. “Relying on that to hold up in a court of law are ya?”

“I’ll take my chances.” Callum shrugs, giving a side glance to Ben. His sudden casual confidence catches Ben off guard and makes his insides squirm.

Callum drives carefully, because of course he does. His big hands slide over the steering wheel, long fingers dancing over the indicators as he lets other cars to pull out in front of him and stops at zebra crossings to let people cross the road before they’re even standing at the crossing because he cares enough to anticipate other’s needs. He tinkers with the radio until he finds some mellow pop that Ben can tell doesn’t exactly please Callum but he has a feeling Callum’s not really listening to the song, like Ben he just wants something to fill the silence.

As much as Callum may look at peace, like he’s got all the time in world, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music and actually stopping at the amber lights Ben usually floors it through, Ben doesn’t miss the way his eyes keep darting to the clock on the radio, how his shoulders sit a fraction higher and his jaw set a degree tighter, a vein on his neck standing to attention more than usual.

Ben has to stop himself, snapping his eyes away form the man beside him and instead staring straight ahead. His eyes are wide with the realisation that he almost didn’t notice the danger that lays beneath his tired musings.

_More than usual._

Like this is normal for them, like he knows Callum, like Ben deserves his company. He turns the radio up a few notches and digs his fingers into his thighs. He can’t do this, not here, not now.

Of course Callum’s tense, he’s meant to be working now, digging up dirt on Davies, getting close to him, doing what he needs to do to put Paul’s last killer away for good. And Ben’s ruined it, like he always does. It’s no wonder Callum’s on edge, Ben’s probably got him in all kinds of trouble by taking him away from his work, diving in literally all guns blazing and not giving a second thought to anyone else. It’s what he does, it’s why Paul’s dead.

They start to pass by shop fronts that look familiar, bright neon signs shining through the dark night, burning Ben’s eyes and he knows they’re nearly home. That this strangely peaceful -albeit tense- drive is coming to an end very soon, so he rests his head on the window, relaxing into the fresh night air that blasts through the small gap and tingles on his skin. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the smells of winter, the lingering scent of bonfire smoke, the hints of Callum’s aftershave that sporadically drift towards him, the smell that’s just _cold._ There’s something about driving through deserted streets at night that fills Ben with a peace he hasn’t felt in years. He doesn’t let himself fixate on the fact that he feels more at peace here with Callum than he would on any other night-time drive, but either way, it’s a feeling he loves, a feeling that transcends logic or sense. Maybe its not a feeling at all, more a state of being that feeds Ben’s soul.

He takes another breath, relishing how the icy air spreads through him, clearing a path, opening him up. He’s at peace, finally. He’s about to close his eyes and let it take him for the first time in what feels like forever, allow himself to soak up the last few minutes of this perfectly flawed time with Callum when he notices the car take a right turn, the opposite direction to the sign in front of them that reads Walford is two miles to their left.

“You went the wrong way, was meant to turn left back there.” Ben says around a yawn. When he doesn’t get a response he turns to Callum and swallows down his alarm at how Callum’s knuckles are turning white from his tight grip on the steering wheel, how his eyes are unblinking and fixed on the road ahead and Ben realises it wasn’t an accidental misdirection.

“Callum? Where are we going?” Still nothing. “Callum?” He repeats, louder.

He reaches out and places his hand on Callum’s arm, he flinches away quickly and utters a hoarse “no” and that’s that.

They come to a stop at a junction, Callum pulls the car over and parks with the same care and precision he drives with, despite his hands fumbling around the key as he cuts the ignition. The roads are deserted and eerily quiet, the orange din of the streetlights reflecting of the damp tarmac of the road and pavements, casting a ominous glow on the scene in front of them that feels almost supernatural. It feels like they’re in a parallel universe, some otherworldly place that transcends time and space where it’s just them. Ben has always thought the world becomes a different place when the sun goes down, and while most consider it a cruller, more dangerous place, he’s always found comfort in the way his normal, shitty world is distorted after dark.

But when he looks over to Callum and sees that he’s shaking with something that Ben wouldn’t dare to assume he knows, wouldn’t dare to assume he knows _Callum_ well enough to know what’s causing it, he remembers that not everyone seeks the same refuge in the darkness. Some trauma doesn’t set with the sun.

“I had a friend…” Callum starts, his voice is hoarse and barely audible, but it still cuts through Ben’s ears.

“In the Army. He weren’t a friend, not really. I loved him, he loved me.” He sounds so far away but the ghost of a smile on his lips cements him back in reality. “I had already been discharged, he was on leave, coming home one night when a van hit him, just ploughed him down right.. there.” He says, pointing to a spot on the junction in front of them. Ben doesn’t comment on how Callum’s fingers tremble as he folds them back in his lap.

“Eyewitnesses say it looked like the driver had been drinking, the way the van was swerving all over the place. We’ll never know for sure, hit and run.” He swallows harshly. He opens his mouth to say more but nothing comes, his lips meeting again because what else is there to say?

“Callum I’m so-“

“That’s why I do it, why I became a copper. Justice, Ben. I know I’ll never get justice for… for Chris but if I can for other people, their families, Paul, _you_ then that’s… that’s good enough for me.” He’s trying the fight back tears but Ben hears how his voice is a second away from breaking, how his eyes shine with tears are teetering on the edge of spilling over. Callum moves quickly, wiping them away before they can fall, sniffing harshly in an attempt to compose himself, to cover it up. It’s a move Ben knows so well he may as well have invented it.

Ben wants to tell him that its ok, that he understands, that Callum’s safe to cry here, with him. But all of that feels like it’s both too much too soon and nowhere near enough, so instead he says what any Tom, Dick or Harry who doesn’t have a clue would say in this situation. “Do you wanna talk about him?”

Callum shakes his head quickly, seemingly snapping back to himself, shit. “Nah. Dunno why I came here really. I ain’t been here since... Sometimes your body just does things before your mind can catch up, you know?”

  
Ben hums. The back of his head tingles where his gun was pressed against it some 30 minutes ago, he remembers the weight of the picture frame in his hand so vividly he’s surprised when he looks down to see his hands empty. He recalls the feel of Callum’s body against his; he does know.

“Sorry I brought you with me, I clearly wasn’t thinking straight.” Callum shakes his head, letting out a shy, empty laugh. 

“Who’d wanna do that?” it’s a stupid comeback and Ben doesn’t even realise he’s said it out loud until he sees Callum turn to him. He wants to take it back, apologise for making a joke here and _now_ but then Callum laughs, a small, beautiful laugh and suddenly Ben thinks that his favourite thing he’s ever said. Callum opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out, instead he sighs, shaking his head with his smile still firmly in place. They sit in silence for a while, a comfortable quiet where it’s just them and nothing else. The case can wait, Jack can wait, even Paul and Chris can wait because this is their time, and while they will always carry their lost loves with them, they can’t let the weight of it crush them. They need light, and Ben thinks that they might just be each other’s.

After a while he turns back to Callum who seems once again to be lost in his thoughts, so Ben redirects his attention to staring out the window. It’s the only place he can look right now that doesn’t feel too heavy, doesn’t feel like he’s intruding on something sacred.

A few moments later, Callum gathers himself and starts the engine again, setting off back to the Square. Ben opens his window a little further, letting more air circulate in the car as they move, hoping it will do something to cleanse them both, praying the icy wind will chase all their ghosts away.

Ben yawns loudly as he sits alone at the kitchen table of the Mitchell house. He got next to no sleep the other night after Callum dropped him home and his body hasn’t caught up yet. Not that he’s been able to sleep much since, or before, but his body shouldn’t be failing him, _can’t_ be giving up on him too.

He’s been in a weird place since the other night, he feels like he’s fallen back a few steps in dealing with all of this and doesn’t know what to make of it. Obviously this wasn’t going to be easy, of course he wasn’t going to keep feeling better and better every day and he’d have hours, days, weeks and perhaps even more of feeling like this when the grief and gravity of the situation got on top of him. He _knows_ this, but it still doesn’t feel right. He should be stronger; he should be better than this.

But he knows -at least in part- what set this tailspin off. Hearing of Callum’s loss, knowing he’s been through something similar to himself was both comforting and heart-breaking. It almost makes sense; from bits and pieces Callum has said and alluded to Ben has had a strong sense of them being some kind of kindred spirits, two people on parallel paths that have happened to come together- to what end, he doesn’t know.

But to have it confirmed; know that Callum has felt pain like this, has been to the brink of hell and been through the Pandora’s box of emotions that involves makes his chest ache with an impossible weight. And above all of that, Callum still manages to be a nice person, a kindhearted, _good_ person. He’s taken his trauma and used it to fuel him to help others, find justice for those who would otherwise have none. For Paul.

As always, Ben’s ever-present self-sabotaging flip side is telling him that Callum’s success is his failing. If Callum can be a good person that helps others why can’t he? What makes Ben’s grief so much worse that he gets to wallow in it when Callum forces himself to rise above it?

He’s not sure when it happened, but his head has fallen into his hands and his fingers are twisted tightly in his hair. He can feel the panic starting to set in, rising to meet the feelings of self-loathing and inadequacy. He stands slowly, his muscles tight and aching as he forces his body into submission in a small victory over his brain. A glance at the clock tells him it’s getting on for 1pm and after another night of staring at the ceiling and stealing a few hours of broken sleep this morning his day is only just getting started.

He stares into the washing up bowl, vaguely recalling deciding to do something useful and clear up the mess he’s amassed over the last few days here after the hustle and bustle of Ian’s became too much. A loud noise from the market penetrates the air around him, making him jump, his hands shooting out of the washing up bowl and splashing the steaming water over his stomach. “Shit” he gasps, reaching for a towel and pulling his shirt away from his reddened skin. He hadn’t even noticed how hot the water was, his hands had adjusted to the scolding heat, his extremities long adapted to the harsh conditions of the world, but at his core he was still the vulnerable dreamer who just wanted to dance to showtunes forever.

His eyes catch on Lexi’s princess mug that still carries the dregs of her hot chocolate from the movie night they had with Lola last night and his heart clenches. He needs to get out of this hole, he needs to be better for her, like Lola said. He can’t be swallowed whole by that monster again.

The next day he’s weaving in and out of the sea of people on the Underground platform as he makes his way back up to the surface. Mercifully, he got some sleep last night. He’s not sure how long a person can go without sleep before shattering beyond repair, but so far he’s clocked in 24 years and he’s somehow still going. The sleep did him good though, and today he’s able to function a little better, which he’ll need, because he’s on his way to another police briefing. If he’s honest, he’s looking forward to going toe to toe with Jack again, nothing brings him back to himself like pissing off an arsehole, but after the other night and everything that brought up, he’s not sure he’s ready to see Callum again. After seeing his own dispair mirrored in Callum's eyes he's not sure he ever will be.

The knot barely has time to cement itself in his stomach when Ben feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. Ah, speak of the devil.

“Mitchell.”

“DI Branning! How are you this fine afternoon?” He chirps, grateful that his cocky persona is easier to access today. 

“What do you want?” Jack asks cautiously.

“Nothing, just showing some respect to one of East London’s finest” he bites back the word _muppet_ and regrets its instantly when he hears Jack’s smirk down the phone.

“Whatever, just get here soon, yeah? The briefing’s starting in 10 whether you’re here or not.”

Ben smiles when he turns the corner and sees Jack standing outside the police station, facing away from Ben as he talks to him.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be late.” Ben says in a low voice into Jack’s ear having got up close behind him. Jack jumps away, giving Ben a look that could kill if only the world was so kind.

“Jesus Christ, Ben!” He shouts, and Ben smiles widely, holding back a laugh, out of respect, obviously. “What was that for?”

Ben shrugs, “just wanted to say hello” he says simply.

“Just get in there, will ya?” Jack urges, jutting his finger towards the station. Ben salutes, marching inside in an act of dutiful obedience.

Ben’s settled into his seat in the briefing room. His plan was to go in and avoid everyone, keep his eyes down and wait for this to be over, then talk to Callum afterwards if he could bare it. But this briefing is a lot busier than the last, and everyone else in the room had other plans. From the moment he stepped into the room he had eyes on him from every direction. Whisperings of ‘that’s him’ filled his ears to the point where he had to turn off the hearing aid in his good ear to stop feeling like a zoo animal. Their voices mutating into the muffled wash of sound that usually isolates Ben to the point of madness, but like his name, he's learnt to use his impaired hearing to his advange on the rare occasion he can.

Ben fidgets in his seat, itching for the moment he can get the fuck out of here and find Callum. Even though he's not ready he still holds on to the smallest bit of hope that he'll see him, but even that is short-lived, because in true cherry-on-top-of-the-cake fashion, multiple scans of the room tells him that Callum is nowhere to be found.

He begrudgingly turns his hearing aid back on when he sees Jack take to the podium to speak, which seems a little excessive, but it is Jack after all. Ben hopes his outward boredom is doing a good job at masking the feelings rushing through him, the exhaustion that is now an extra limb, the disappointment of Callum’s absence, the apprehension at what Jack is going to say, what it will mean, what it will inevitably do to him.

His attention is caught by Jack looking hesitant at the front of the room. He can see Jack’s eyes scanning over the crowd in the same way his own have been since coming in here, and he has an inkling they’re both looking for the same face. He watches as Jack turns his attention to another officer at the side of the room holding a phone, the man gives Jack a subtle shake of his head and Jack sighs, a concerned frown settling on his brow.

“Right, everyone. Settle down.” Jack addresses the room, erasing any trace of worry from his face. “Thanks for coming, for those of you who don’t know I’m DI Branning and I’m here to give you an update on this case.”

Despite wanting to listen to what he’s saying, the rest of Jack’s words don’t penetrate. Ben’s too focused on what happened before he spoke, how he was looking around the room searching for someone, the look he shared with his colleague, how Ben is sure it was about Callum. Logic is telling him that the look could have meant anything, Jack could have been looking for anyone, but his gut is telling him to be on high alert.

“So, now for what you’re all here for. We’re making good progress on this case, slow, but good. In the last couple of days we’ve had a breakthrough.” Ben involuntarily sits forward in his chair, his pulse quickening in anticipation.

“Thanks to the incredible efforts of our field officers, we now know the exact time and location of a drug shipment of one of Davies’ suppliers. Obviously this is great intel, and we’re still deciding whether to make our move here or keep up our surveillance and make arrests when we know even more. As you know, this is a make or break situation, we move too fast and we spook Davies, we move to slow and he gets away.”

 _Again._ Ben adds silently, falling back into his seat like a deflated balloon.

“As you can appreciate, this is a delicate balance and we only have one shot at this. We need to trust those making the decisions, we can’t mess this up.” Jack finishes, his eyes finding Ben in a hard stare. As if he couldn’t infer that that was a warning for him, Jack had to put it in skywriting as fucking per.

Ben watches as the smoke dissipates, mixing into the air and hiding in plain sight. He doesn’t smoke much these days, but one of the visitors outside the police station who looked how Ben feels offered him one, and it would have been rude not to accept.

“Watch it, the wind will change.” Jack nods towards the scowl on Ben’s face as his lips pucker around the cigarette.

“Fuck off.”

“Charmin’. Not very grateful, are ya?”

“Grateful?” Ben spits, his voice teetering between a disgusted laugh and a shout of frustration. “Why the fuck should I be grateful for you doing your job? And badly at that.”

“I’m putting Davies away.”

“No. You’re calling me in here, getting my hopes up to tell me that you’re _not_ putting Davies away. You’re putting a gay officer in the clutches of a known homophobe who killed my boyfriend. You’re still treating me like a criminal and you’re laughing to all your jumped-up little mates about having a Mitchell at your mercy!”

“I ain’t.”

“Do you know how hard it is for me to come in here? Not knowing what you’re gonna say, what you’re gonna drag up this time? This ain’t something I can switch on and off when you call me. Its all the time Jack, I’m living it.” Ben exhales, he didn’t know that was going to come out and really wishes it hadn’t been Jack that heard it.

“I know.” Jack says evenly, because he does. He lost Ronnie just as unexpectedly as Ben lost Paul, but it’s not the same, she was the victim of her coked-up sister, Paul was beaten to death for holding Ben’s hand.

“Where’s Callum.” Ben asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s not in the mood for Jack trying to get him on side through their shared grief, sure, Jack might have some understanding of what its like to lose someone, but them sitting round the camp fire singing Kumbaya is still pretty far off.

“He’s ill.” Jack answers quickly. Too quickly.

Ben snaps his eyes up to Jack, scrutinising him, looking for any crack that will act as proof of his deceit. “You’re lying." He accuses, and then, unable to hold it in anymore, "it’s Davies innit, he’s done something. I saw you, looking at your mate in there, something’s up, I know it is.

“Look, Ben I don’t know what you _think_ you know, but he’s sick. And a word to the wise- and you- this fascination you have with PC Highway, stop it.”

“I ain’t fascinated.”

“You are” Jack scoffs.

“Did the thought ever cross your mind that I’m worried about him because I know what Davies is capable of? I know that if he finds out that Callum’s gay, let alone that he’s an undercover cop he’ll be dead in a second.”

“You’re underestimating him.”

“Maybe, but I’m still disgusted that you’d take the risk.” Ben spits, throwing his cigarette down with more power than necessary, watching as it ricochets off the curb and rolls, getting stuck in the rivets of a manhole cover in it's quest for freedom.

“He’s an officer, Ben. He’s one of us, I don’t see him as a gay guy do I? He’s just Callum.”

“Ah, right little ally you!” Ben cries, throwing his hand over his heart and taking Jack’s chin in his fingers, turning his head from side to side, examining his face.

“Er, watcha doing?” Jack questions.

“Just deciding which side to paint the rainbow flag on.”

“Fucking hell Ben.” Jack breathes, stepping back and pushing Ben’s hand away.

“Tell me Jack, will you see him as a gay man when he’s killed by the same homophobe that killed Paul? Or then is he just unlucky? A coincidence? A statistic? A brave officer nobly killed in the line of duty?” 

“Ben, like it or not, Callum’s doing his job, so am I. We're working this case all hours to make sure Davies goes down for what he did, _all_ _of it._ Callum agreed to this, he wanted to do it so-“

“No he didn’t.” Ben stills, _be careful._

“What?”

“He didn’t want to do it, he’s worried about what Davies might do.” Ben says, inwardly wincing because he knows Callum wouldn't want Jack knowing about his doubts. 

“How d’you know that?”

“He told me.” When Jack raises his eyebrow Ben relents "as good as, anyway."

“Right, as good as, ay?" Jack laughs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Did he tell you where he is now?” He mutters, turning away from Ben so that he doesn’t hear him, and it almost works. Almost.

“What?” Ben barks, pulling Jack back roughly to face him. “So you don’t know where he is?!” Any other day he'd hide the panic he's feeling but he doesn't have it in him right now, not when he doesn't know if Callum is ok.

“No Ben I-“

“You don’t even care do you? He could be dead Jack!”

“Ben—BEN!” Jack shouts after him but Ben’s not listening. He won’t listen to another word Jack has to say as long as Davies is walking free and Callum is a dead man walking.

He's finally at Walford tube station after what feels like years. He presses his phone to his ear for the hundreth time, tasting the bile at the back of his throat when the dial tone keeps sounding, each time the endless monotone dishing out another round of torture. He breaks into a run towards the funeral parlour; it’s a place full of so many ghosts for so many people, Ben having been cruelly and prematurely welcomed into that group a long time ago.

His feet hit the ground hard with every hastened step, pulsating up his body and feeding his erratic heartbeat. He keeps going, closer and closer, and with every step he takes he’s praying he's not about to be greeted by yet another ghost. 


	6. Hot wheels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, here we (finally) are. Sorry it’s taken so long to get this up, many MANY things have been going on that stopped me writing but I won’t bore you with the details. It doesn't help that I really wasn’t happy with this chapter so after many, many rewrites here we are. I hope you like it. 
> 
> Also I hope you’re all doing ok and looking after yourselves, this second lockdown is tough on everyone and just know that you don’t have to be doing amazingly productive things. I know life and responsibilities don’t stop because of the pandemic (and in many cases have increased) but please remember that just getting through the next few weeks (and months, let’s be honest) is enough. Stay safe, stay sane, and be kind to yourselves and others. 
> 
> Tw: this chapter is mostly set in Callum’s flat above the parlour, so that brings up a lot of thoughts and memories about Paul. There's talk of the army and Callum's injuries, and mention of survivour's guilt. There’s also talk of Callum’s dad, so abuse, homophobia and alcoholism is discussed. Sorry, this isn’t the cheeriest of chapters.

There must be a god, because when Ben steps inside the funeral parlour, chest heaving and palms sweating, it’s empty.

Or so he thinks, further inspection tells him that Stuart is in the office, moving around bizarrely in what Ben can only assume must be his attempt at dancing while putting paperwork into a filing cabinet, some old rock song bleeding out of his earphones acting as the soundtrack to a sight Ben won’t be able to unsee anytime soon.

Thankfully, Stuart is so engrossed in his ‘dancing’ that Ben’s able to sidestep the office and slip upstairs unnoticed.

Well, up a few stairs.

He’ not sure what betrays him first; his body or his mind, but either way he finds himself frozen still on the stairs. His mouth dry, mind spinning, hands clutching tightly at the handrails, feet stuck in breeze blocks beneath him. He can’t move, can’t take another step towards the place that used be Pauls home, that at one brief point felt like _his_ home too.

_Callum._

He takes a deep breath, diluting the paralysis. He has to do what he came here for; make sure Callum’s ok. He needs to know he’s safe, that Davies hasn’t destroyed another thing that reminds Ben he’s human.

He pulls his hands away from the rails like they’re burning him, trying to reclaim his body, stop the spread of rigor mortis to the living and takes another step, and another, and another until he’s at Callum’s front door.

He can smell Pam’s potpourri filtering through the gap in the door, the thick rose scent clogging his airway. If he closes his eyes he can see Les’ shoes placed neatly on the bench next to the door, shining in the dim hallway light.

_You can do this._

Then, like a bullet out of nowhere he hears it, laughter.

Paul’s laugh _._

All rich and full and bursting with _life_. He can hear it so clearly, like he heard it only yesterday. He’ll never forget that sound, it’s infectious. Filling his ears and bringing colour back into his world, making his heart sing again for one blissful moment before it sinks back down to the bottom of the deepest ocean.

He’s breathing faster, he can feel that his entire body has gone rigid again and this time he can’t blame it on the parlour. Overcome by the desire, the _need_ to know that history hasn’t repeated itself he raises his hands, drumming on the door loudly, hands alternating, giving no let up to the ferocious assault on the wooden door that rattles on its hinges.

“Callum! CALLUM!”

“What?” Callum shrieks as he yanks the door open, eyes wide and defensive at the intrusion but if Ben isn’t kidding himself, they soften when they land on him. “Ben?”

Ben’s body sags against the doorframe, air leaving his lungs as a flood of relief rushes through him. He’s here, he’s ok. He looked pissed off and tired and like Ben might have just woken him up, but the fact remains the same.

 _He’s safe_.

“What are you doing here?” Callum asks, concern meeting the tiredness in his eyes.

“Hi.” Ben says, shame dotting the edges of his conscience. He’s just marched round here and all but kicked Callum’s door down to see him and now he doesn’t know what to say.

_You’ve seen him, he’s ok. Off you pop._

“Sorry to intrude.” Ben says briskly, rubbing the back of his neck, _what the fuck are you doing?_

“Just that you weren’t at the briefing today and well…”

_I was scared I’d done it again._

_I was scared I didn’t save you too._

_I was scared you were dead._

“I was worried it was because of me.” He drops his gaze to a spot on the carpet in front of him, “you know.. because of the other night.” He inwardly winces as the truth of one of Ben’s brief yet admittedly self-centred and pathetic thoughts land on Callum’s ears

“Why would I avoid you?” Callum sounds genuinely confused, and Ben’s not sure if it’s his tiredness that’s making him slow on the uptake or if he’s just that pure. He bites back a smile. “If anything, you should be avoiding me after the other night.”

“Yeah, right.” Callum strains slightly to hear Ben but he clearly didn’t, thankfully. “Where were you then? Slacking off?” Ben asks, hoping he landed the airy tone he was going for and not letting on how invested he is in the answer.

“What? Oh no it’s… I’m sick.”

Ben’s about to say _you look it_ when he notices Callum shift his weight from one leg to the other and quickly back, wincing slightly and thinks better of it. Callum catches Ben’s eyes wondering down his body and quickly interjects, “tea?”

_Go home, leave the poor sod alone._

“Sure.”

“Sit yourself down then” Callum says, pointing to the sofa and Ben obliges. He watches as Callum limps to the kitchen and puts the kettle on.

“You sure you’re ok?”

“How was the briefing then?” Callum asks lightly, expertly redirecting the conversation once again.

“Same as always. Jack going an about nothing important. Busier than usual but that didn’t really matter.” _Because you weren’t there._

“Oh shit, I need to tell Jack I ain’t coming in. I’ve been asleep most of the day.”

“Funnily enough I think he got that message.”

“Yeah, and I think I ain’t gonna stop hearing about it either.” Callum laughs but there’s no warmth behind it.

“Ah, don’t listen to him, guy’s an arsehole.” Ben sighs.

“Mm hm”

Ben turns to see Callum hunched over the kitchen side, one hand braced on the top cupboard, the other gripping a mug so hard his fingers have turned white and Ben’s worried he might shatter it in his bare hand. His eyes are forced shut and his face screwed in what Ben can only assume is the result of concealing agony for too long.

Before he knows it, he’s on his feet next to Callum. Up close he can see that his entire body is trembling, breath shallow as he tries to catch it.

“Callum..?” Ben reaches out, placing his hand gently on Callum’s arm, the other man snapping out of whatever hell he’s in, looking alarmed at Ben like he’d completely forgotten he was here. Ben pries the mug carefully out of Callum’s hand, watching him closely with every move to make sure it’s ok, that he’s not hurting him. “It’s ok, I’ve got this. You sit down.”

Callum says nothing, Ben’s not sure he’s capable of it right now. But he gives Ben a tight smile that’s backed by a softness that he doesn’t know how Callum manages to access when he’s clearly in a lot of pain. He slowly moves over to the sofa, gripping every surface tightly on the way and lowers himself down with a grunt.

Ben goes about finishing the tea, making a few wrong turns while trying to locate teaspoons and teabags but he gets there in the end. By the time he places the mugs on the table and perches on the sofa next to Callum he seems ready to talk.

“You done something to your leg?”

Callum barks an empty laugh around a bitter “yeah” that Ben can hear irony dripping out of but can’t help but feel like he’s on the outside of the joke.

“What did you do to it?”

Callum says nothing, nodding his head towards a picture of him in his army uniform alongside his squad.

_Oh._

“I worked in the kitchens mostly, but sometimes I had to go out with the rest of the squad. There was this one time, I won’t bore you with the details, but it was meant to be a pretty simple operation. We hadn’t had anything from the enemy in a few days, we should’ve known really.” He shakes his head regretfully.

Ben doesn’t want to know the rest, but he has to. If he’s going to have a hope in hell of knowing Callum the way he wants to he needs to hear this. “Known what?”

“There was an explosion, a car bomb. I was one of the lucky ones, there were 10 people in my squad and only 4 of us came back. I escaped most of the blast, just got some shrapnel in my leg. As you can see, it still gives me trouble sometimes.” He stares down at the leg in question, shaking his head gently, then he looks at the photo of his squad, and Ben knows he’s feeling guilty. Chastising himself for having a moment of self-pity because he was one of the _lucky ones_.

Callum takes a sip of his tea and Ben does the same, both wanting to do something to fill the empty space Callum’s words have left in their wake. “It’s psychosomatic, _apparently._ ” He says, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. “Don’t matter really though if it’s in my head or not, either way I still couldn’t move when I woke up this morning.”

Ben doesn’t know what to do, what to say, so he goes for what normal people would say when they see someone they care about in pain, realising it doesn’t feel as alien on his tongue as it has before. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Got a time machine? Stop me joining the army?”

“Do you mean that?”

Callum’s quiet for a few moments, a sad smile spreading on his lips as he considering his answer. “No” he whispers. “It probably is all in my head though, just the stress of work, or the cold. God, I sound so old.” He huffs.

“If you can feel it then it’s real, don’t matter what anyone says.” Callum smiles brightly at him, making a knot twist tightly in Ben’s stomach. He gets it, Ben has validated his pain, pain that Ben can only imagine he’s spent years being told time and time again isn’t real.

“You are bloody _ancient_ , though.” He teases, and Callum laughs. “But, I do know what you mean” he relents.

“Then you’re old too.” This time they both laugh.

“It’s just..” Ben continues, knowing he should just _shut up_ but the words keep flowing. “Like you said, pain is worse in the cold. In the dark of night when it’s so quiet and you’re exhausted and there ain’t nothing to drown out the memories.” His eyes fall on Paul’s door and he opens his mouth to speak again but a dull ache in his chest shuts him up.

Callum nods and hums in agreement because there’s nothing else to say. He gets it, Ben knows he does.

Ben doesn’t know what to say next, knows he shouldn’t have taken the conversation there, should have just enjoyed the light-hearted moment and not put his usual grim spin on things, but he did. And now they’re here in this endless pit and Ben has no idea how to get them out.

As if on cue, Callum comes to the rescue, like he always does.

“Rain sounds.” He says simply, breaking the silence.

“Come again?”

“I listen to rain sounds at night, helps me sleep.” Callum shrugs. At Ben’s blank expression he elaborates “its like you said. At night its quiet, nothing the drown all the bad stuff out so I found something to drown it out. Since I started doing that I slept a lot better.”

For some reason Ben can’t think of anything to say to that. He’s dumbfounded, but why? Of course, Callum saw a problem that was affecting him negatively and found a fix for it. Of course he did something to help himself, it’s what normal people do, they find ways of helping themselves, solving the little problems in their lives because they can’t get a handle on the big ones.

Not Ben though, he sees a problem, any problem no matter how small and he just lives with it, resigned to the fact that he’s just not meant to have a happy life. He lets the small problems join forces with the big ones until he can’t distinguish between then anymore, until they’re all one big mountain of pain and fear that crushes him a little more every day.

Recently though, he’s felt different. Like things aren’t as heavy as they’ve always seemed to be, like maybe not everything is out to get him, the weights falling near him instead of on top of him. Paul’s death being dragged up obviously brings fresh waves of pain along with it, but he’s found that there’s something oddly liberating in being confronted by something that come so lose completely decimating him before and being able to stare it in the face because he’s still here.

He’s changed, sure. He’s stronger, bolder, more confident in himself than he was four years ago. He’s able to access a vulnerability within him that he didn’t know existed, but that’s what parenthood will do to you. But he’d be lying if he said the man beside him wasn’t contributing hugely to him getting through this.

A while later they’re sat in a comfortable silence, cold dregs of tea sitting in their cups as the occasional car sweeps through the square, headlights shining through the window where they haven’t gotten round to closing the curtains yet.

“The wallpaper’s gone.” Ben wonders out loud, looking around the flat he used to know so well.

“Oh Ben, I forgot. You don’t have to be up here if you don’t want to.” Callum insists, looking mortified as he remembers their conversion from downstairs. 

“Nah, it’s alright. If I didn’t want to be here I wouldn’t have come” he lies. Looking back he hadn’t had a choice, the overwhelming need to know that Callum was ok ultimately overrode any anxiety he had about coming back here. And it all melted away the second he saw Callum- admittedly not looking his best- but unharmed by Davies.

“Anyway its.. nice to see it.” He adds, eyes lingering once again on the door that hides the room the used to be Paul’s, used to hold the promise of one day being _theirs._

Callum nods in understanding and Ben wonders if going back to the place Chris was killed felt the same to Callum as coming here does for himself. It can’t feel the same, here Ben has memories, good memories of him and Paul laying on the sofa watching film after film as Pam fussed over them, memories of Paul’s skin against his just feet away on the other side of _that door._ All that junction has for Callum is pain. The sorrow of knowing that that was the last place the man he loved was alive, it must have crushed him to go back there. And he took Ben with him.

“It aint gone, anyway.” Callum says, gesturing to the wall. “We tried to get rid of it, me and Stu but it was impossible. I think those flowers would be the sole survivor of a nuclear disaster.” Callum Chuckles. “Though to be honest that wallpaper was a bit of a disaster itself.”

“Oi, Pam Coker is one of my favourite people in the world, you dissing her taste in interior design is like jamming a knife in my chest.” Ben chimes, his hand placed over his heart.

Callum puts his hands up in surrender. “Noted. My sword is away.”

“Shame” Ben mutters. Callum shoots him a disapproving look, but he can’t hide the hint of a smile that curves the edges of his lips, or the blush that dots his cheeks and stains tips of his ears red.

Ben can’t hide his either.

“I dunno about you, but I need a drink.” Callum says abruptly, slapping his hand on the arm of the sofa.

“Another tea?”

“Nah, got some beers downstairs.” At Ben’s questioning look he continues. “It’s something me and Jay used to do when I worked there. It’s a pretty depressing job so we always made sure we had a drink on a Friday after work. We could just be somewhere quiet and talk about the week, any particularly difficult customers, that kind of thing. Sounds silly but it helped. We still do it sometimes, if I’m around which ain’t much lately. But, it means we have beers downstairs, so..” 

“Didn’t know you and Jay were such good mates."

Callum shrugs. “I’ll be two minutes.” He stands carefully, not limping as much as he was earlier but still moving slowly, not bearing too much weight on his bad leg until he’s out the door, cautious footsteps descending the stairs.

Ben blows out a long breath of air, drumming his fingers on his thigh and looking around. He really doesn’t want to be on his own here of all places for any length of time, and from the way Callum was moving Ben seriously doubts his claim of being two minutes.

He stands, knowing full well he should stay rooted to his seat, knowing exactly where his feet will take him when given the chance.

And they do.

Before he knows it, Ben’s stood in doorway of Paul’s room.

His hand hovers over the door handle and he can’t count the number of times he’s felt his weight shift to the balls of his feet, body aching to go inside but what little is left of his self-preservation holds him back.

It’s funny how an inch of wood separates his two worlds. The before and after. Currently, he can imagine that the room on the other side of the door is the room he knows, untouched. A time capsule preserved from a time he had unlimited hope for his future. 

He doesn’t know what he’ll see if he opens the door but he knows it won’t be Paul’s room anymore. It won’t be the place they would lay for hours, laughing and talking and saying nothing. It won’t be the place he had the most defining night of his life, the one that made him realise who he truly was, and how ok it was to be himself.

If he opens the door, he’ll see someone else’s room, Callum’s maybe, or Stuart’s. He’ll see their possessions strewn about; it will be their smell lingering in the air. All trace of Paul and their time together will be gone, along with any ridiculous hope of Ben walking through the door and being greeted by lean arms, brown eyes and a mop of curly hair.

He pulls his hand away from the past.

“Ben?” He starts as Callum appears at his side; maybe he was only two minutes after all. Though from the way he’s holding the beer bottles and looking a little out of breath, a light shine coating his forehead providing evidence that the trip was more effort than he bargained for in his current state, Ben reckons that Callum had been gone a while. And that he had been standing in the doorway for almost as long.

“You alright?”

Ben answers with a minuscule nod of his head. “I had my first time in this room.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with Paul - or any bloke - but it just.. happened.” Tears sting his eyes but he can’t fight them off this time. “I was so lonely. Before I met him, I was _so lonely_.”

“That must have been hard.”

“Hard?” he says through a watery laugh, “yeah. If you call hard living a lie, feeling dead inside. And then you’re with someone like Paul and they’re your world.” His voice breaks as the tears keep flowing, a gushing river that has no hope of slowing. “I would give my life just for one of them lost seconds.”

He stumbles, breathless and blinded by tears to a chair, throwing himself down on it and waiting for the storm to pass. It does, eventually, and he finds Callum still rooted to the same spot he was in before. Callum’s eyes are trained on the kitchen counter, but the pained expression on his face gives away that fact that he was watching Ben.

Callum wordlessly opens the beers and places one on the dining room table in front of Ben. He sits in a chair opposite and raises his bottle to Paul’s door. Ben almost bursts into tears again from sheer overwhelm but manages to take control, he joins Callum in his toast and they drink together in silence.

Throughout his life Ben’s occasionally had a sudden, burning desire to move. Get up and run around, dance to a showtune ignoring his dad’s disgusted looks, jump on a plane with no return ticket and a backpack. He feels it now.

He needs to move.

He rises like a bolt, Callum’s eyes quickly following him. Ben picks up their empty bottles and moves to the recycling bin in an effort to style out his rapid movement.

“Thanks” Callum smiles gratefully, “another?”

Ben makes a weird mumbling sound that’s neither a yes nor a no and wanders back into the front room, if he moves slowly maybe he can trick himself that he’s making some ground in this small flat. With the exception of bolting out the door and running all night, leaving Callum alone and wondering what the fuck just happened, Ben doesn’t really have a choice but to stay here and wait out his antsy feeling. He could leave, sure, make his excuses and go and Callum would be none the wiser, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to leave Callum in the dark.

Callum moves into the kitchen, taking the last two bottles out of the freezer where he put them for a ‘quick chill’ and opens them. The fizz of the bubbles rising up the bottleneck the last thing Ben hears before his attention is taken elsewhere.

Enroute to the sofa he sees the last thing he’d expect to see in Callum’s home. Carefully angled in the corner of a bookshelf, completely dust-free in contrast to the other items on the shelf, which all hold a thin layer of dust, is a small toy truck with huge wheels. The deep purple of the cab is broken up by flames and the words _hot wheels_ emblazoned along the side, and various scratches and dents litter the edges and paintwork.

“Don’t think you’d have much luck selling that one at the Car Lot.” Callum says brightly, placing their bottles on the table and making Ben jump out of his skin.

“Didn’t think you were the fast car type.” Ben states, willing his heart rate to slow down.

“It’s hardly a Lamborghini is it?”

_What is with everyone and Lamborghinis?_

“It’s a monster truck, Ben. My brother got it for me years ago.” Callum says briskly, clearly wanting to end the conversation there. But Ben’s got other ideas, he’s just broken down in front of him about Paul, now it’s Callum’s turn. Fair’s fair.

“Looks like you played with it a lot, it’s pretty scratched up.” Ben comments, picking the toy up and turning it in his fingers. He examines it closely, like taking in every inch of the toy car will help him unlock whatever box Callum is trying to keep hidden away from him.

“Nah, well.. yeah. But I was careful with it.” Callum says with a slight heat behind his words that Ben didn’t expect. Callum watches the car like a hawk in Ben’s grip, and, getting the message he puts it safely back on the shelf, making sure to place it back in the same spot. He can almost feel Callum relax beside him when the plastic meets the safety of the wood veneer.

“Stu found it at a car boot sale so it was a bit beaten up already.” He says, taking a drink. “I kept it pristine though, well, obviously it ain’t pristine but there ain’t been another mark on it since Stu put it in my hands.” He says with a smile, a hint of pride in his voice, like he’s making good on a promise to his brother Ben is sure Stuart isn’t in on.

“He couldn’t have got you a new one?” He knows it’s an obnoxious thing to say, but it’s meant to be provocative. Make Callum feel small, silly for liking it, for wanting to protect it. That’s what Phil’s done for as long as Ben can remember, it’s all he’s ever been met with when his dad found something he loved.

A stab of red-hot shame hits him, he knows how that feels. How enjoying anything comes with the fierce need to protect it, keep it private, keep it hidden away in the corner of a bookshelf from those who will ruin your love for it and then keep it in plain sight to remind you of it every day. 

Ben hates it, but he has to admit, he does enjoy the rise is normally gets out of whoever is being challenged. When he gets a brief taste of the power his dad held over him until only months ago, power that Ben knows he’ll have again the second he’s out of prison. Callum doesn’t rise to it, though, doesn’t react in the way Ben expects, in the way he _should_. He nods gently, mulling over the question like it a fair thing to ask, like he’s used to justifying everything he loves just like Ben is.

“We didn’t exactly have much money growing up, anything we did have went on booze for dad. Things we needed weren’t a priority to him let alone anything we wanted, so after a while I just learnt… not to.”

“Not to what?”

“Want things.”

Ben doesn’t know if it’s Callum words or the matter of fact way that he says them that makes a knot wrap itself around his heart and squeeze impossibly tight, maybe it’s both. It makes sense though, Callum said he’d only recently come out, and it sounds like his dad was about as accommodating to having a gay son as Ben’s own. Of course, he knows how hard it is to come out, but he couldn’t ever imagine living a lie for almost thirty years. Now he gets it, though. Callum learning not to want things went way beyond wanting new toys, he had tricked himself into not wanting men, into not letting himself love who he wanted because the person who was meant to love and take care of him made him think he wasn’t worthy of happiness.

Ben feels the muscles in his back tighten as an anger takes hold of him. How could anyone, let alone the people who were meant to love Callum make him feel this way?

He may not have had the happiest of childhoods himself, spent way too long waiting for his dad’s approval, his acceptance, but he always had everything he physically needed provided for him, never wanted for anything. Phil may not have approved of the things that made Ben happy and sabotaged them wherever he could, but he still wanted happiness for his son, he just went the wrong way about it.

“I loved that car, still do.” Callum chuckles, nostalgia setting in. “It was a bit of a thing, for me and Stu. He’d always ask- when dad was…kicking off. He’d ask if I wanted to play with my monster trucks. I was well confused at first, I was only about five? I think, when he first did it. I think it was just the first thing that popped into his head to distract me. Obviously, it weren’t about playing at all, it was him asking if I was ok. If I needed help, an out, rescuing.”

Callum’s stare is trancelike, the truck a portal, sending back in time to when he needed that toy the most the same way Paul’s door did for Ben.

“It came to mean so many things, but it didn’t matter what the situation was, what the question meant in that moment, I knew what it meant. That he was here, whatever I needed, whatever the cost, my big brother was there for me.” His voice is quiet, distant. Like he stopped talking _to_ Ben a long time ago but still wants to share this with him.

“I suppose that’s why I keep it really, up there.” He continues, louder than a moment ago. “A reminder that he’s there, he’s always on my side. He ain’t perfect, I know that, but he’s my brother and for the longest time he was all I had.”

He takes a deep breath that shakes on its way out, before adding finally, “I took it to the army with me too.”

Ben doesn’t say anything, there’s nothing to say to that. He lakes a long drink of his beer and winces as the bubbles burn his throat, he masks it quickly though, and soon he’s enjoying how the burn spreads though his body, blistering where no one can see. 

When he looks at Callum again he has come back to himself. He places his bottle on the table harder than Ben expects, a dull thud filling the room. Callum refuses to meet Ben’s eye and moves to the kitchen, his limp firmly back with a vengeance and Ben thinks that the doctor may be on to something with this whole psychosomatic thing. 

Callum braces his arms against the kitchen side, taking a few deep breaths. Shit, he pushed him too far. When will Ben learn when enough’s enough?

“Callum-“

“It’s getting late, I think you should go.” Their eyes catch briefly, instead of the anger Ben’s expecting to see there’s a pleading exhaustion behind Callum’s eyes that renders Ben speechless. He nods, breathing out a soft _yeah_ before picking up his coat and slipping out the door.

The cold air bites at the exposed skin of his face and hands, but he doesn’t feel it. He’s numb to any attack right now, nothing can possibly hurt as much as seeing Callum look so defeated. And what’s more, that Ben is the reason for it, he pushed him too far. Even diamonds shatter if hammered hard enough.

He kicks a stray bottle top on the ground and watches as it slides across the pavement, falling down a drain with a clatter.

“Ben”

“Callum? What are you-?” His eyes find the older man who’s stood in the doorway of the stairway up to the flat, a little breathless, one hand holding the doorframe tightly.

“Sorry. Uh, sorry. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Up there. I um, I got a bit.. carried away.”

“Callum you don’t need to apologise for that. It was my fault, I overstepped.”

Callum shakes his head in protest but it’s weak, void of conviction.

“I should probably get rid of it, anyway. Let some kid have it who needs it. I dunno I just haven’t been able to part with it, you know? I guess it’s just me being selfish.”

Ben tries to speak but only a hoarse sound escapes him until he finds his voice again. “Callum, how could you ever think that _you’re_ selfish? You’re the most caring, selfless person I know!”

“It’s for kids, Ben. I’m not a kid.”

“No, but it clearly means a lot to you.” Callum shrugs, dipping his head and diverting his eyes in a way that says he’s determined not to meet Ben’s.

Ben closes the space between them, taking hold of his shoulders and turning Callum to face him. It’s not enough though, and Callum’s head still hangs in what Ben can only hope is sadness but knows it’s mostly misplaced shame.

Fuck it, he’s committing to this.

His hands move upwards, cold fingertips meeting Callum’s warm cheeks. In that moment they’re exactly what the other needs; Ben’s fingers cooling Callum, Callum’s skin warming Ben. Yin and yang.

He guides Callum’s face to line up with his own, where he’s no longer able to avoid Ben’s gaze.

“Callum, you’re allowed to want things now.”

Callum’s furrowed brow drops, the creases in his face smoothing into a blank expression. His eyes trace the contours of Ben’s face as his thumb gently glides over his cheekbone. Ben realises he’s stopped breathing and a shuddering breath escapes him, warmth gliding over Callum’s wrist and making goosebumps appear on his soft skin. 

Just when Ben thinks he’s getting used to this, he can cope with Callum being so close and them being _so close._ When he thinks the nervous energy building inside him may just be stabilising to let him take the reins again, it intensifies, mixing with the need to touch every inch of him, the butterflies in his stomach when he locks eyes with Callum’s. Blue meeting blue; souls connecting.

He doesn’t now who moves first, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the soft press of Callum’s lips against his own; tentative at first, and he pulls back briefly to look at Ben, eyes searching in a silent _is this ok? Do you want this as much as I do? Has waiting been killing you as much as it’s been killing me?_

All Ben can do in answer is give in to his body as it’s pulled by some uncontrollable force back into Callum. Lips moving together, fingertips brushing skin as small pockets of air escape between them, erupting into small clouds around them.

Ben’s surprised at how easily his body lends itself to Callum. It happened the night they hooked up too, but he was able to blame that on the alcohol, or the fact that he was so in need of a release he would have given himself to anyone like that.

But he can’t deny what Callum does to him this time, he can’t deny _this._

As much as he wants to resist, he’s drawn into Callum. He thought his experience with Paul would have made him stronger, harder, more able to ignore his heart. But maybe, after everything this is him being strong. Letting himself like Callum, letting himself be with him. Maybe real strength is letting himself fall again when he knows the risk. No longer choosing to exile his heart from his mind.

He lets this thought drive him as he walks Callum back towards the wall behind them, directing him into the mouth of the stairway and kicking the front door closed to where it’s just them. He’s kissing him deeper, more hungrily because they’ve already lost too much time as it is and they know better than anyone how fleeting life can be.

Callum gives as good as he gets, meeting Ben’s urgency without hesitation. Callum might be the one against the wall but Ben feels surrounded, of all the times he hasn’t been able to breathe in his life this is by far his favourite.

His lips drop to Callum’s neck, leaving a hot trail of kisses along his collarbone and pressing his body further into Callum’s when he threads his fingers through Ben’s hair, tightening his grip the same way he did that night. Callum moans softly as Ben sucks on his neck, his moans growing in volume and intensity when Ben’s teeth scrape against his tender skin. Callum’s hot breath ghosts over Ben’s ear as one last moan escapes his lips.

“Ben, stop.”

Ben freezes, his hands hovering centimetres from Callum’s chest and hip where they were touching seconds ago. He can still feel Callum’s body against his, hot and pulsating, he can feel the growing bulge against his hip that contradicts Callum’s words, makes his argument almost laughable yet Ben can’t find anything to laugh about.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?” Ben steps back, giving them both space to catch their breath.

“No! No its just…”

“What is it?” Ben urges, trying not to let on the panic that’s rising within him

“Well, I don’t wanna do this you know… here.” He laughs nervously. “Besides, we’ve done this a bit backwards, haven’t we?”

Fuck. In his rush to dive in before his mind could tell him to run for the hills, he forgot that Callum might not have the same instinct.

Ben hums because he can’t trust any words that would come out of his mouth in this moment to be coherent, let alone not to give the game away.

“He keeps telling me to stay away from you. Jack I mean” Callum says, frustration clear in his voice. Ben automatically takes another step back, his heel catching on the skirting board of the opposite wall. It’s safer this way, if he’s the one to put the distance between them, it will hurt less this way. That what he tells himself at least.

Ben sighs, “right. Well, you can tell him to mind his fucking business.” Ben is certain to fuck his up in his own way sooner or later – by the looks of it he already has- but on the off chance he hasn’t he’ll be dammed if Jack Branning beats him to it.

“I can’t though. Stay away from you.

Ben bites the inside of his cheek to stop him smiling so hard he thinks he might draw blood.

“Well, you ain’t the first to fall for me. Won’t be the last neither. I’m really hot.” That’ll do. Saved by the cocky bell once again.

“Ben” He breathes out the word, half a whisper, half a laugh that’s lost almost instantly to the freezing air coming through the now half open door. Almost.

Ben takes a deep breath. He can’t do this. Callum rubs his hand roughly over his face, his eyes shut tight in the most ‘ripping off the plaster’ face Ben has ever seen. “Ben will you go out with me?”

“What?”

“Dinner. Tomorrow night.”

“I’ve got Lexi tomorrow” he doesn’t know why he lies, he wants this, wants _Callum_ but he also needs to buy himself some more time.

“Ok, the next day then. I ain’t taking no for an answer.” Callum says, jutting his chin a little in defiance. Ben can’t stop himself this time, and a small smile creeps onto his lips at Callum’s adorable attempt at showing Ben who’s boss.

“What time?”

“Is that a yes?” Callum’s shy glint erupts into a full-on beam when Ben theatrically rolls his eyes and nods his head. “Half 7? I’ll meet you at your mum’s?”

“Sure.” Ben replies coyly.

It may sound pathetic, like some line in a cheesy chick flick, but Ben literally feels like he could burst from the sheer amount of joy surging through him. He wants to scream from the rooftops _I have a date with Callum highway_ but instead he settles on absorbing the starry-eyed look and bashful smile Callum is sending his way, certain that he’s giving the same back.

Ben steps outside, pulling Callum’s hand with him where they’re joined and don’t want to part. Ben’s not sure when they started holding hands and the brief glance Callum sends to their intertwined fingers says that he’s none the wiser too. It seems that when they’re together these things just happen.

As usual, Ben’s happiness is short-lived; he can count on one hand the number of joyous moments he’s had in his life that weren’t immediately followed by a reminder of his pain. This isn’t one of them.

As luck would have it, Ben look upwards the very moment the light it switched on in Paul’s room, by Stuart he assumes, and light filters out of the window through a thin blind. He can make out the outline of a lamp in the corner, a wardrobe located in a different spot, there were curtains in the window before. It confirms what he didn’t want to know when stood outside the door, what he hasn’t wanted to face up to for four years. Paul’s not there anymore.

“Ben,” Callum clocks the illuminated window, how it drained the light from Ben’s face and left him with an expression of mournful longing. He immediately closes the space between them, taking Ben’s face in his hands. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to live again.”

Ben’s eyes meet Callum’s, insistent and earnest and he offers a small smile. Not because he wants to make Callum feel better, like he’s helping, but because he’s right. That’s what Callum brings out of him. The best.

“Sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“No, no you said something right. Very right its just…”

“You weren’t ready to hear it?”

Ben nods. Maybe he wasn’t quite ready to hear it, but he was a lot more prepared than he would have been a few weeks ago, and that's down to the man in fornt of him. He leans up to kiss Callum, changing his mind at the last second an pressing his lips to Callum’s cheek instead of his lips because maybe he’s right, patience is the key to this.

Callum’s surprised chuckle is enough to give Ben the strength he needs to part from him, making his way home. In the reflection of one of the store fronts at the perimeter of the Square he sees the light in Stuart’s room go out. He stands a little taller as four years’ worth of guilt and blame that should have never been placed on his shoulders starts to fall away.

Ben chuckles as he steps into the front room of the Beale house; Jay and Lola are passed out on the sofa, legs tangled as a disgustingly upbeat rom-com scene plays. He might be weak at the knees for Callum, but _good god_ does anyone buy this shit?

He carefully grabs the blanket from the armchair and covers them, if anyone asks tomorrow, he’ll blame it on his mum. Lola stirs momentarily and god, if Lexi isn’t her double.

He tiptoes upstairs, not wanting to wake anyone up, fleetingly feeling a like a criminal creeping in his own home. He reaches his destination when he sees the pink glow of Lexi’s nightlight shine through the gap in her door.

Silently, he steps into her room and climbs into her bed next to her. He doesn’t do this often, and there’s only a handful of people he’d ever admit doing it to, but he never feels closer to his daughter than when they’re tucked up together and she’s sleeping peacefully in his arms.

“D-daddy?” Lexi stirs, her sleep-laced voice slow.

“I’m here baby” he assures as she moves closer, her tiny hand placed over his heart.

“Daddy, are you leaving again?” her voice is small but Ben can hear the fear in it. Honestly, if she wasn’t staring up at him with such scared, questioning eyes he could cry right there and then because this is what he’s done to her. Him waking her up in the middle of the night doesn’t mean they’re going on holiday, or that Santa is downstairs, like it would to most 8-year-olds, it means that he’s leaving her. Again.

“No” he swallows the lump in his throat. “No baby I’m staying right here with you, I promise. Go back to sleep.” He strokes her hair and breathes her in. In certain spots of her head she still smells like a baby and Ben loves it, knowing how she smelt as an infant means he can kid himself that he was there for her when she needed him most.

He holds her close and almost suffocates himself in her, wishing he could stop time. Slow down the inevitability of her growing up, moving on, not needing her dad so much. He wishes he could prevent the day arriving where he breaks his promise and has to leave her again.

Somewhere in the quiet he becomes aware of raindrops pattering against the window. Echoes of _I listen to rain sounds_ cycle in his head and he tunes into the irregular sound of water hitting glass. He wonders of Callum can hear it too, if he’s listening to nature’s lullaby as he drifts off to sleep a couple of streets away. 

Ben squeezes Lexi tighter, the sound of her slow breaths mixing with the calming rainfall. His thoughts fall again to Callum and how the next time he sees him with be _their_ time as he drifts off into the most peaceful sleep he’s had in a very, very long time.


	7. 53 Minutes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello, aaandd we’re back with chapter 7!
> 
> I don't have much to say other than I hope you're all well and enjoy the chapter. Thanks for reading :)
> 
> Sidenote- Microsoft word’s auto recovery feature deserves a special mention for this chapter after it oh so nobly recovered this almost complete (and pretty much unsaved) chapter when my laptop decided to unexpectedly update. I’ve learnt my lesson- save more often!
> 
> Tw: internalised homophobia, a bit of Ben thinking about Paul's death and brief mention of Heather, very brief (bascially fleeting) mention of Callum's injury/the army. Ben and Callum also experience some homophobia from some kids, no slurs are used but it makes Ben think about Paul. Also, there’s a moment where Ben uses pain to bring himself back to reality (if that makes sense) there’s nothing graphic and it is brief.  
> Take care of yourselves.

Ben yawns as he pads into the kitchen, putting the kettle on and stretching his neck where it’s stiff having dosed off again on the sofa after taking Lexi to school. He’s got that annoying grogginess; the one that only follows a glorious sleep rooting deep into his bones, making each movement and thought painfully sluggish when logic states he should be set alight with a new vigour.

It’s typical really, on the off chance he gets a good night’s sleep _finally_ , his body clings onto it, not letting him use the recharge to go full throttle but instead trapping him a place in between waking and slumber. He half expected to wake feeling like this new person; like women in shaving ads who always seem to experience some kind of rebirth with smooth legs. Ben always laughs at them, _what a load of bollocks_ , but he’d be lying if he said he couldn’t do with just an ounce of their enthusiasm today.

Still, one night in god knows how many years isn’t gonna do much, is it? It’s like pissing into the wind at this point.

It doesn’t change the fact that he woke up with an optimism he doesn’t know when he last felt, not sure if he ever has. Feeling alert in his initial waking moments before Lexi was pelting him with balled socks to _wake up or I’m going to be late daddy_ he wanted so badly to take this and run with it. Like going back to work after you’ve been ill, rushing back to the thing you spend 90% of your life complaining about just for a bit of normality, whether you’re ready for it or not.

He wanted it though. One day, just _one day_ where he could do it himself. Where he didn’t have to rely on Lexi or Callum to make him feel alive; where he could paper over the cracks of weakness, the network of fault lines Ben reckons is as extensive as his lymphatic system at this point.

Something bubbles in his chest at the thought of Callum, an excited apprehension that sends alarm bells ringing in his head that he can’t bring himself to listen to. Because the thought, the _possibility,_ also makes him happier than he ever thought he could be again.

He starts humming along to the radio he hadn’t realised was playing and finds his body moves little faster, a little easier; his blood running warmer through his veins and _fuck_ he’s too far gone.

A sigh leaves his lips as the opens the fridge, the door pocket where the milk lives empty. His casts his eyes along the worktop to see an empty milk bottle, lid strewn haphazardly on across the counter in a scene the only his darling brother could have created. _Too busy being Walford’s most respected entrepreneur to waste his time with such things_ is Ian’s go to excuse in response to his messiness. _Too much of an entitled, juvenile wanker to tidy up after himself_ is Ben’s take on it.

Still, the fact remains that the milk is gone, and while he takes his coffee black, he needs milk in his tea. The café it is.

It’s getting on for midday by the time Ben’s walking through Bridge Street, tuning out the hustle and bustle of the market and slipping along the pavement next to Ian’s house to avoid the commotion of the market. His body is aching more that he first thought; while a night in Lexi’s bed did wonders for his mind, his body wasn’t as accommodating to being cramped up all night.

He blows out a sigh, watching as it comes out in a faint cloud and dissipates quickly and nearly stops dead in his tracks at the sight before him. Coming out of the café, coffee cup and paper bag in hand, is no other than the subject of Ben’s dreams looking much more rested and steadier on his feet than last night. 

Callum’s eyes brighten when they land on Ben, solar flares pulling him further into Callum’s orbit. “Ben, hiya” he chirps, joy and surprise evident in his voice.

“Y’alright?” Ben ducks his head to hide the smile that just the mere _sight_ of Callum caused.

“Yeah, gotta get back to work in a mo. Needed my mid-morning pick me up, though. I er.. ain’t slept great the last couple of nights.” He says, glancing down at his leg. It’s then that Ben realises that while Callum may look better today, he’s moving better and the bags under his eyes are fainter, a paler shade of purple, the effects of his pain will be felt for a while.

Just as the case reopening has ripped open old wounds for Ben, every twinge Callum feels in his leg must do the same for him; bringing guilt and sorrow with it that doesn’t disappear overnight. He can’t imagine it, having all of it dragged up repeatedly for the rest of his life, never knowing when it will strike, never really knowing what to do when it does.

What he really can’t get over, though, is how Callum is so kind, so positive and caring. How he helps Ben to overcome his demons when he’s battling so many of his own.

He can’t say any of this though, now isn’t the time or place and even if it was, there’s no way he’d have the words to do it justice. To do _Callum_ justice. Instead, Ben nods and regrets it instantly as a split second of awkwardness clouds over them.

“I er.. spoke to Jack earlier.”

“Thought you’d know better than that by now.”

Callum chuckles, “you’d rather, what was it? Shit in your hands and clap? Than play nice with him...” Callum says, and there’s something about hearing his own words on Callum’s tongue that makes Ben feel a little lightheaded.

Ben winces, his face scrunching up before cracking an eye open to gage Callum’s reaction. His lips are sucked into his mouth and his eyes are bright with something Ben can’t put a pin on. “Uh.. yeah… Probably not my finest moment.”

“It’s quite…” Callum beings, lost for words.

“It was stupid. I was just tryna make a point.” 

"Ben it was bloody hilarious.” Callum begins, his voice slightly hushed, face breaking into a mischievous grin as he glances to the side like he’s worried someone will tell him off for enjoying the fact that someone got one over on his boss. “When Jack told me I choked on my coffee, spat half of it out which of course landed on his shoes. He hates me more than ever now though, so cheers for that.”

Ben laughs, a loud, rich laugh that comes out of him before he can stop it.

“It aint funny!” Callum’s insistence comes out as a half-hearted cry, his eyes sparkling, and Ben finds himself thinking for the second time this morning that he’s too far gone but this time he can’t bring himself to care.

“It’s a bit funny.” Ben counters, before mouthing _its very funny_ to the slightly affronted look Callum is giving him.

An odd noise escapes Callum; something between a whine and a groan and they both laugh at his juvenile display, a faint blush adorning Callum’s cheeks. They stay in that moment, frozen in time and space as the market bustles with life around them. Bright eyes sparkle with adoration, broad, smitten smiles concealing the fear in the pit of Callum’s stomach; the multitude of Ben’s sins.

“Highway, let’s go!” They both start, surprised by the voice penetrating their peace because just like that, Jack ‘the cockblocker’ Branning steals the show again. Ben turns to see his favourite person in the _entire_ world leaning up against a police car at the entrance of the market, waiting for Callum and eyeing Ben with his trademark ‘suspicious policeman’ smirk.

“I uh, better crack on, get back to work.” Callum says slowly, nodding his head towards his boss.

“Yeah, course.” Ben nods somewhat lamely, his body failing him in the aftermath of being captivated by Callum’s eyes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” Ben smiles. Callum glances over Ben’s shoulder, looking to Jack. His attention much be elsewhere, because Callum rests his hand on Ben’s arm, featherlight, before adding quietly “have fun with Lexi tonight, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ben’s heart races at the touch, so soft yet rooted with the weight of sincerity, before sinking at the reminder of his lie. Part of him stands by it, knows he needs the extra time to sort his head out, but another part can’t bear it. Any lie, however small to someone who chooses to be so open despite such a sorrowful past feels wrong. It feels cheap.

“Not if I see you first” _Jesus Christ, what was that?_ Ben falters and is met by a quizzical look from Callum. God, he’s usually good at chatting guys up, it’s all he’s good at. “Uh, thanks. Now, get off to work you!” He pushes Callum away lightly in a move that will undoubtably be seen as playful to Callum, but in all honesty Ben just needs to get him away before he says anymore cliché bullshit that blows this before he’s had the chance to

Callum chuckles out a “see ya later” as he moves to join Jack at the car.

“Bye” Ben whispers so quietly he may as well have mouthed it, he blows out a sigh to save himself from bursting – of joy or embarrassment he’s not sure- before stepping into the café.

“Alright there lover boy?” Lola sings across the café the second Ben’s foot breaches the threshold. That woman’s gaydar is off the charts.

“Leave off, Lo” Ben counters, dropping into the seat opposite her.

“You look happy” Jay states, a cautious look in his eye. He knows better than anyone that a happy Ben usually equates to something illegal.

“He’s only got a date with Callum later!” Lola cries around a mouthful of toast.

“You never!” Jay’s eyes are wide, animated in the way he usually reserves for playing with Lexi, and Ben doesn’t know whether to feel patronised or amused.

“Yes, yes alright. Keep your hair on.”

“He luurrvveess himmm” Lola drawls, firing a shit eating grin directly at the father of her daughter.

“Jesus Lo, bit early to be drinking, ain’t it?” he teases, sniffing her coffee. She rolls her eyes and he grabs a piece of her toast because honestly, it’s his only weapon at this point. He can’t talk himself out of this one; it feels too dangerously like the truth.

“Ha ha, so original Ben. I’m just happy for ya, that’s allowed, innit?”

Ben shrugs. “Seriously though, good on ya,” Jay says, giving Ben a celebratory shove to the shoulder. “And Callum, he’s a good-looking bloke.”

“Oh, watch it Ben, you’ve got competition!" Lola cackles and Kathy's head shoots up from behind the counter. "Just kidding, we all know they’ve only got eyes for eachother.”

“Alright, now you’re just embarrassing yourself” Ben deadpans.

“Whatever Ben, you didn’t deny it!” Lola scoffs into her coffee.

“Oh Callum, I like him,” Kathy chimes in, throwing her tea towel over her shoulder and taking advantage of a quiet moment between rushes in the café, perching on the table next to theirs, placing a cup of tea down for Ben before engrossing herself in her son’s love life like it’s her only source of salacious gossip. “Always very nice when he comes in here, very handsome too” she says, a knowing wink accompanying the nudge she gives her son who rolls his eyes in response.

“Just, make sure you treat him right, yeah? He’s a good bloke.” Jay says earnestly and fuck, it’s the worst thing anyone could have said in that moment.

“Right, so do you all think I’m gonna mess this up then?” If it was something that was in his range of hearing, Ben could have heard a pin drop in that moment. He looks around to his mum, his brother and the mother of his child who all suddenly find the sticky floor and grimy walls of the café fascinating, none of them making eye contact with him, all wearing identical expressions of _don’t ask me._

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.” Ben mutters, gulping down his tea.

“Anyway, where’re you gonna take him?” Kathy asks expectantly, and Ben knows she already knows the answer and is already disappointed by it.

“Walford East.”

A chorus of “oh Ben” from his mother, “you’re so cheap” from Lola and a very on brand scoff from Jay bombard him.

“What? It’s local, safe. Who knows, Callum could be a nutter and want to lure me away to a dark alleyway and-“

“Shut up Ben, he’s an angel” Lola dismisses, slapping his arm.

“In the streets maybe, but in the _sheets…_ ”

This time it’s Kathy that whips her son with her tea towel as Jay freezes mid-eating, staring at the piece of sausage now hovering by his mouth, before slowly returning it to his plate.

“What’s the matter? Can’t stomach a good old _Beale sausage?”_ Ben winks, firing an evil grin at Jay.

“Oh! Piss off!” Jay cries, pushing his plate of half-eaten breakfast away. Ben pick up the sausage in his fingers and makes a show of eating it slowly, moaning as he puts it in his mouth and staring his brother down the entire time while Lola, also repulsed by Ben’s antics, falls into a fit of laughter at her boyfriend’s response. 

“You’re disgusting, I was tryna eat.” Jay sighs, shaking his head.

“No you weren’t, you pushed your food away.”

“Babe, it was pretty funny” Lola adds, wiping a tear from her eye and checking her mascara in the reflection of the napkin holder on the table.

“Whatever, I’m going to _work_ ” he aims the word at Ben, “because some people do that.”

“Chill out, I’m on my lunch break.”

“Come on mate, the Car Lot hasn’t opened yet.” When Ben just waves him off Jay huffs, dropping a kiss to Lola’s head and giving Kathy a wave where she’s back at the till as he makes his way to the door.

“LOVE YOU!” Ben shouts after him, a declaration met with a middle finger salute.

Kathy stares blankly between her son and the café door as it bounces on its hinges and back again. “What did I miss?”

Ben jolts awake, properly awake this time, not like an hour ago when Lola was rooting around his room for Lexi’s school shoes, scolding him for keeping her up too late on a school night. He’d decided to make good on his lie to Callum and treated Lexi to another movie night, regretting his decision pretty quickly when he remembered that his daughter’s definition of movie night is to watch Frozen 2 for the millionth time. He’d managed to distract her though, when she mentioned making fairy cakes which was an idea he ran with. It ended up with them dancing around the kitchen and Ian -ever the hypocrite- having a right go at them about the mess they made but fuck him; he wouldn’t know fun if it shat on his doorstep.

He had finally got her to sleep around 10:30, after keeping the house up with her rendition of _Into the Unknown_ , each chorus a stark reminder of where Ben feels like he’s going tonight.

A night of tossing and turning into the early hours has left him irritable, wishing that he’d slept in with Lexi again because he can’t deny anymore that recent events have made his bed less welcoming. What was once his safe haven, now just another spotlight on his inadequacy for which he’s found there are only two people in the world to be a cure. God, isn’t it kids that are meant to hate sleeping without their parents? Not the other way around.

He knows he’s pussyfooting around the real reason he’s awoken feeling sick, though, and he can’t hold the obvious off for long as a wave of uneasiness washes over him, breaking in his chest.

Fuck. He’s nervous.

His gaze drifts to the shirt hanging on the front of his wardrobe and a fresh shot of nausea spikes up his throat seeking freedom. It’s new but not _new_ because he’ll be fucked if he’s buying new shirts for dates, for _this_ date. His eyes skirt over the price tag still connected to the label just to spite himself. Sure, he hasn’t worn it before, but he’s had it for a few weeks. It doesn’t count.

Ben’s dead on his feet by the time his feet land on the bottom step, descending once more to enter Ian’s dining room. He knows it’s a mistake to seek out his family right now, isn’t in the mood for their shit, but after a day of twiddling his thumbs at the Car Lot, indecisive customers pissing him off and not being able to focus on anything except the sporadic need to puke and what he hopes is the inevitable sight of Callum in some very tight jeans tonight, he needs a distraction.

Besides, it’s only for a few minutes, then Callum will be here. He takes a deep breath, his vision clearing.

“Daddyyy.. you look nice.” Lexi drawls, jumping up from the sofa to join her dad.

“Thanks baby” he says, ignoring the slight shake in his fingers as he strokes her hair and sends a warning look to Lola.

_Fuck. Get a grip, man._

“Yeah, you look great” Lola smiles encouragingly and it’s exactly what he needs.

“Oh Ben! You look so handsome.” Kathy cries, wrapping her arms around him the second she comes through the door and it’s exactly what he doesn’t need. 

“Cheers, mum” he mumbles, wriggling out of her grasp and smoothing a discreet hand through his hair, fixing it. It’s not discreet enough, though, and Lola gives him a side glance and knowing smile.

“Just have fun yeah, and don’t do nothing I wouldn’t do.” She winks.

“So, nothing’s off the table then?”

“Oi you little shit!”

“Language!” Lexi shouts, her hands flying up to cover her ears.

“Like I said, right delinquent this one” Ben jokes, shoving Lola’s shoulder gently and sending her a grateful look, feeling a little more himself.

Kathy starts talking about her day and usually Ben would listen, well, _sometimes_ he’d listen. But not tonight. Tonight, his eyes are trained on his watch,

7:29.

7:29..

7:29…

_7:30_

He barely has the time to internally panic when there’s a knock at the back door. Of course Callum's right on time.

_Breathe._

“Ooh he’s here, he’s here!” Kathy squeals, clapping and almost jumping on the fucking spot. Ben sidesteps her quickly, closing the kitchen door behind him. “Oh, can’t we say hello?”

“No” Ben snaps around the shot he’s taken to _calm his fucking nerves._

Another knock at the door, _7:31._

Fuck.

He takes a deep breath as his hand closes around the door handle. _You can do this._

Sapphire eyes and a shy smile greet him, dimples and slightly flushed cheeks soothe his nerves; every ounce of tension leaving his body only to be replaced with a fire when he looks down and sees the sight he’s been waiting for. The jeans are tight, the jeans are _mercifully_ _tight._ The cause is the cure.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

They both break into massive smiles, feeling giddy. Ben wants to blame it on the shot he took, but even he knows alcohol isn’t capable of _this._

His mum’s voice drifts through the door and he can tell she’s itching to come and embarrass him, so he decides it’s time to run and take cover.

“We should get going before my mums measuring you for a wedding suit.”

Callum looks at a loss for words. “Fair enough.”

“This is insane. My brother owns the fucking place and I have to wait outside for an hour?!”

“Ben, it’s ok. I don’t mind, honestly.” Callum assures, concealing his shiver a tad too late and Ben gives him a look.

“You should have booked, Ben” Iqra huffs, too busy for Ben’s moaning.

“I did book” Ben seethes.

Iqra’s brow furrows as she furiously studies her clipboard, “oh, yeah you did.” She says sheepishly, "it looks like the booking was cancelled though?”

“Cancelled?!” Ben’s voice raises, and Callum’s hand that’s been brushing against Ben’s the entire walk there finally makes contact, squeezing gently around his, a pleading look in his eye that simmers Ben.

“We are fully booked now though, so like I said, there’s an hour wait, do you want me to put your names down?”

Ben lets out a long sigh, _what a fucking disaster._ Callum’s watching him carefully, a glint in his eye that makes him think that maybe, just _maybe_ , all’s not lost just yet.

Ben’s eyes catch on a bright sign out the corner of his eye, “Chicken?”

“What?”

“Do you like chicken?”

“Er.. yeah?”

“Sure? It ain’t a trick question Callum”

“Yes. Yeah I like chicken” Callum huffs, still baffled by Ben’s questioning.

“Let me show you the finest cuisine Albert Square has to offer then.” Ben announces loudly, catching Iqra’s scornful eye.

“Lead the way.”

Callum is silent as he looks from the McClunky’s sign to Ben’s face and back again. His puzzled expression finally breaking into one of amusement, laughter leaking out of him, the only antidote to the dread his silence caused that took hold of Ben in record time.

“You know, when you said chicken, this ain’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Most people would be turned on by someone who can take charge and think on their feet.”

Callum shoots him a look that says _I didn’t say I wasn’t_ and suddenly Ben isn’t hungry, well, not for food anyway.

Ben drops the tray on the table a little harder than expected, internally scolding himself when he sees Callum jump at the sound. _Keep it together, Mitchell._ They eat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, after Callum struggling to open the cardboard box and Ben taking the piss out of him for being too middle class to open a box of fried chicken, them both dissolving into laughter at how untrue the statement was.

“Good?”

“Yeah. To be honest I’m so hungry I’d eat anything.”

Ben smiles, he’s counting on it.

He’s about to let Callum know when he hears sniggering on the other side of the room. A group of teenagers huddled around a table sharing a box of chicken nuggets that’s definitely meant for less people than are sticking their grubby hands in quickly duck their heads at Ben’s glance. One of them catches his eye, unwavering, and despite Ben giving it his best intimidating Mitchell stare, he can’t ignore the slip of fear that snakes it’s way down his spine.

Some of the kid’s mates start making kissing faces at them, tongues wagging and making obscene noises, and he watches as Callum’s arm tenses on the table, sending them careful glances while trying to outwardly ignore them.

The realisation that Callum’s uncomfortable too sets something alight in Ben, he’d had half a mind to stay there, let the kids have it, show them that him and Callum are proud of who they are and won’t be intimidated by some jumped up kids with voices that could shatter glass.

It's not like it's Ben's first time having to deal with this kind of thing. The kids in prison took their pick daily whether they'd bully Ben about his deafness or his sexuality, pretty much everything his dad has ever said to him on the subject was derogatory, and there's the small matter of the man he loved being killed for being gay. _Character building_. That’s what his dad called it when he would piss himself laughing at Ben’s love of musicals or dancing. But Callum doesn’t deserve this; neither did Ben. 

He clears this throat is preparation to speak, his mouth having gone completely dry, when Callum beats him to it.

“Come on guys, tone it down a bit yeah? We’re tryna have a conversation here.”

“Think you’re after more than that don’t you?” One of them sneers, a short boy with mousy hair and glasses, who looks so strikingly, _painfully_ like Ben at that age that he aches with it.

_Get a grip. Since when was a Mitchell intimidated by a bunch of kids?_

Ben can’t help it when his hands start to shake so he squeezes them together and tucks them between his legs. These kids can’t be older than what? Fifteen, sixteen at a push, they don’t know what they’re doing, they're just trying to impress eachother. But he underestimated the threat the night Paul was killed, and he vowed to never to that again. He can’t stop thinking that they’re around age he was when he killed Heather, and Bobby was even younger when he killed his sister; the illusion of innocence is just that. An illusion.

He turns his attention back to Callum, doing his best to fake a smile that barely reaches his cheeks let alone his eyes.

“You alright?” Callum asks, looking a little unsure himself.

“Yeah, yeah fine.” Ben croaks out, surprised and grateful in equal measure that vomit didn’t accompany his words.

“We can get out of here if you want, go somewhere a bit… quieter.”

If Ben wasn’t feeling like a pack of hyenas’ next catch, he would make a joke out of that, instead he exhales a weak smile rakes his fingers through his hair. He’s felt this before, of course he has any time he’s been out with a guy since that night and someone takes a second look at them his heart hammers in his chest, grip on their hand tightens and loosens simultaneously, preparing himself for a fight; preparing himself to run. Again.

It happens when he’s out with a man, any man, let alone _this_ man.

He takes another shuddering breath, pressing his fingertips into the skin just under his hairline hard, feeling the bumps of his skull under the thin skin. He presses harder, until his body shakes a little, until he’s sure his fingers are white with the force of it. Its grounding, _cementing._ A reminder that he’s here and Callum’s here and history doesn’t always have to repeat itself.

His eyes must really have it out for him today because they find the exact spot on the floor next to the counter where Lexi was born. He can almost see Lola on the floor, covered in sweat and tears as Jay soothes her and peeks at the perfect baby in her arms. He sees his younger self, the one who was still desperately fighting everything that made him who he is. He’s gawping uselessly at them, massive glasses magnifying the terror in his eyes, the vulnerability, the _help me, please. Because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing._

Fuck this. He needs to get out of here.

He kicks Callum’s leg under the table, a little harder than he intended if the startled look on Callum’s face is anything to go by and stands.

“Come on, you. Let’s get out of here.”

They end up in the park, Ben’s legs mindlessly following Callum. Sticking close because somehow their fingers found their way back to the other’s again. 

“Don’t really know why we came here, sorry,” Callum says, also confused by their destination.

“I don’t mind, so long as we’re alone.” Callum smiles at, it’s full, packed with something Ben isn’t quite ready for yet, but he needs a little more time to recover from earlier, so he takes it. “Dunno about you, but I’m gonna finish my chips.” Callum chuckles, opening his own box and munching on a few.

They stay like this, side by side leant against the picnic table, the silence that falls has a weight to it, both of them ruminating over what just happened, a cutting reminder of what brought them together in the first place. How they’re shocked but not surprised, how their anger curtails their fear, fuels their hope for a safe future.

After a while, Callum shifts a little, and it results in their shoulders touching and thighs brushing together occasionally, each time sending a surge of heat through Ben and a splattering of crimson to Callum’s cheeks, lifting the haze over their heads.

Things get easier after that, and they finish their food at a leisurely pace, bursts of easy conversation and soft giggles punctuating the renewed easy silence between them. When Callum moves to put their boxes in the bin Ben’s hit with a cold so bitter it feels like he’s being pelted with snowballs from the second Callum leaves his side to the moment he returns. He settles back where he was, shoulder to shoulder with Ben, knocking their knees together and suddenly Ben feels warm again, he feels drunk.

For a moment Ben is struck by how weirdly intimate this feels. He’s here, in the park on a cold night with Callum, content and full in so many ways, having eaten a meal he would usually finish his night off with, too bladdered to care what it is. McClunky’s is the only place that’s still open in the early hours, conveniently placed near to Tube station to service drunken revellers as they stumble their way home after a night out in Central. Callum’s turned a meal of convenience into one of luxury.

“Oh, shit, I’ve got ketchup on my sleeve” Callum looks so put out that Ben can’t help the laugh that bubbles in his throat. “I’m glad you find it so amusing. Still, at least it ain’t my uniform.”

“Ooh, do not mention your uniform in my presence unless you want some dirty policeman jokes fired your way.”

“You really are _that_ immature, ain’t ya?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it.”

Callum huffs a laugh, “you’re unbelievable.”

“So I’ve been told. Suit yourself, though. Guess I’ll have to manage with mentally ripping your uniform off you instead, having a bit of _fun_ with your truncheon an’ all.”

“Oh, god! Ben! I don’t think I’ll be able to use that now without thinking about you!”

Ben moves so he’s millimetres from Callum’s ear, his breath drifting, warming the icy skin of Callum’s ear. He drops his voice low, sultry, “oh, but Callum… sweet, _sweet_ Callum, that’s the point.”

It has the desired effect, Callum stares at him, his pupils blown, lips parted, the edges peaking into a playful smile.

“I’ll admit though, I do prefer ya in your civvies.” Ben shrugs nonchalantly, mixing it up again. 

“Do you now?” Callum asks, a little breathless.

“Yeah, I mean, those jeans…” in the ten seconds it takes Ben to elaborate, Callum goes from looking like a deer in headlights to looking utterly perplexed and back again.

“What about them?” Callum probes, while Ben stares at his bottom half, his bottom lip trapped by his teeth, circling his hand like he’s describing a piece of priceless art to a tour group, because well, isn’t he?

“They’re tight, Callum. Like, _tight,_ like I might as well have x-ray vision tight.” Callum’s eyes are even wider than a moment ago, his mouth forming a perfect O and Ben would laugh, find this all bloody hilarious if his eyes weren’t fixed on a sight that makes his blood run hot.

“Are they?” He asks, wrapping his shirt closed, the checked fabric covering his crotch.

“Don’t get all shy on me, I think we’re a bit past that, don’t you?” Callum ducks his head, his cheeks flaming because after asking Ben to fuck him the first night they met yeah, they are past this.

“But.. I will try to refrain from talking about your truncheon, if you prefer.”

“Oh Ben, behave will ya!” Callum blushes and Ben does something he never does; puts his hands up in surrender.

“Listen, Ben, them kids earlier..” Callum’s words punctuate the peace that had fallen over them, a bucket of ice water reminding Ben that tonight hadn’t always been as easy as just the two of them.

“Ah, fuck ‘em.”

“That must have been hard, you know, after what happened with Paul.”

“They were just kids having a laugh, it’s fine.” Ben bristles.

“I saw you Ben, you were-“

“Fine. I was fine.” Ben cuts in, his tone hard. _Jesus Christ, just drop it._

Callum deflates beside him and Ben softens, remembering Callum’s own look of unease earlier in the night.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oi, you have nothing to be sorry for, alright? Nothing. It was nice of you to ask, it was.. good. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, it was just a bit weird, you know? I mean, I know my dad ain’t happy with... this” Callum says, waving his hand between them, “even my brother has his moments, but strangers, what’s it got to do with them?”

“It don’t.”

“Especially kids, too. I’m sorry but what where they, 12? They wouldn’t know _this_ if it punched ‘em in the face!”

“This?”

“Well.. yeah. I-- I like you Ben, a lot.” A stupidly wide grin lands on his lips as he diverts his gaze quickly, his shyness taking hold before he regains control. “I like you more than I could have imagined at 28 let alone at their age. If they knew, if they got it then maybe they wouldn’t be like that.”

“Or maybe they’re homophobic arseholes and shouldn’t be given the benefit of the doubt.” Ben says, he’s both angry and in awe of how Callum is seeing the other side of this, putting himself in their shoes and trying to rationalise their prejudice. Ben can’t afford that, not anymore. There’s a reason he treats everyone who looks twice at him like a threat, it’s because they are one.

Sooner or later Callum will realise this, or maybe he won’t. Part of Ben hopes he doesn’t; hopes he retains the privilege of trusting people because he hasn’t watched his boyfriend be killed for the simple act of being in love.

“Y-yeah, you’re right. Sorry.” Fuck, he’s apologising again, not exactly what you want on a first date.

“Anyway, it weren’t just them. Lexi was born in there.”

Callum laughs, “you are joking, right?”

“No,” at that, Callum’s grin falls to a look of a man headed to the gallows.

“Oh god, sorry for laughing I--“

“Chill out, it’s fine. And stop apologising for stuff or I’m gonna have to shut you up myself.” He winks and Callum stops looking like a fish out of water and like someone who might actually be enjoying himself. “I weren’t there for her back then, I guess being in there just reminded me of that. Not that I need one.”

“Ben, Lexi adores you, you’re a great dad.”

“Was I a great dad when I left her for months to bugger of to Portugal?”

Callum shrugs, “you did what you had to do.”

Ben shakes his head, maybe he did, but if he hadn’t have listened to his dad he wouldn’t have needed to leave in the first place. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”

“Who hasn’t?” Callum counters quickly. “Ain’t that what life is? Making mistake after mistake and hoping someone still loves you at the end of the day?” Callum sounds sure, sounds like he’s reassuring Ben but when he turns to him, he sees an uncertainty clouding Callum’s eyes. A fear.

Now he sees it; Callum needs to be reassured too, told that it’s ok that he’s made mistakes. That he’s good, that someone will still love him at the end of the day. A small smile forms on Ben’s lips as it hits him that he still thinks Callum is one of the best people he knows, the _he_ would still love him at the end of any day.

Ben stands, pushing himself away from the table. Callum’s eyes are glued to him the second he moves and fuck, Ben hadn’t realised he needed that. He moves towards Callum, settling in the space between his legs that Callum had opened on instinct.

“You know, what you said earlier, I like you too… a lot.” Ben whispers, brushing his nose against Callum’s jaw before moving back slowly to gage his reaction.

Callum’s eyes are wide, breath catching slightly so Ben takes his hand slowly, slipping his thumb under Callum’s palm, his pinkie sandwiched between sturdy digits. Callum adjusts his hand, moving so their fingers can intertwine fully, like tree roots seeking sustenance, their fingers coming to rest once they’ve found it.

Their journey to get here was slow, gradual. A montage of stolen glances, shared jokes, heart wrenching conversations, fingers twisted in hair and hushed moans, but it still hits them, both of them to find themselves back here; time suspended around them, trapped in a moment neither one of them could leave even of they wanted to.

Callum swallows hard and Ben watches his throat as it moves, cartilage bobbing under skin and fuck it. Ben wants to take him here and now because _fuck patience._

He’s lost his internal battle, he needs Callum in every way that exists. His body is too slow though, trailing behind his heart and mind and suddenly a loud _ding_ fills the air around his ears. His eyes drop to the source of the noise in Callum’s hand, his phone buzzing once again startling Ben back to reality where public fornication is a crime.

“It’s Jack, he’s on my case.” Callum groans, his voice has a roughness to it that tells Ben they had just been as lost as eachother moments ago, both so close to being found.

Ben glances at the phone and scoffs. 53 minutes.

They got 53 minutes of their date.

“When isn’t he on someone’s case?” Ben huffs, imagining how good it would feel to punch Jack in the face at this very moment, can almost feel the sting on his knuckles at the imaginary impact. 

Callum huffs a laugh, his breath ghosting over Ben’s cheek, his phone screen illuminating his anguish in the dark. “I really need to go, I’m sorry, Ben.”

“Next time, I’ll book us a table, yeah?”

“Next time?” Callum looks at him hopefully and Ben feels the urge to give thanks to whatever it was that brought someone so pure into his life. Honestly, who would question a second date when they had just been so close to.. whatever might have happened tonight.

“You make it sound like you weren’t dreaming of getting my trousers round my ankles five seconds ago!” Callum ducks his head, bashful, blush dotting his pale skin. “But, yeah.. if you want?”

“Yeah. Course I do.” When Callum nods the moon catches his cheekbone, bathing him in a milky glow; the moonlight illuminating Ben’s sun.

His fingers land on Callum’s cheek, casting a shadow in the pale strip of light, a gentle touch that Callum melts into, his eyelashes fluttering shut. Ben has a front row seat, witnessing the moment he loses himself, how his forehead smooths and the tension leaves his face; the moment he comes back to himself. Ben watches the precise second Callum remembers he has a job to do and his body stiffens; slipping out of Ben’s arm’s in response to a strength Ben didn’t know he possessed, doubts he has himself.

“I really have to go, I’m sorry” Callum sighs, annoyance only tainting the edge of his words, replaced by a dream-like serenity when he looks into Ben’s eyes. “Get home safe, yeah?”

Now it’s Callum’s turn to touch, his massive hand enveloping half of Ben’s head, his thumb grazing over his lips, Ben's warm breath levelling the goosebumps on Callum's wrist. Ben sighs, content, a warmth filling his core because he hasn’t felt this cared for in years.

“Yeah. Good night, Callum.”

“Night.” Callum presses his forehead to Ben’s for the briefest moment, before turning and walking into the night.

Ben stays rooted to the spot for a while, watching the space Callum disappeared into in the hope he’ll return if he wishes hard enough, wills it into existence. Callum’s words replay in his head:

_Get home safe, yeah?_

He didn’t say it, why didn’t he say it?

_You too._

Ben’s suspicions are confirmed the second he closes the Ian’s kitchen back door. This was a mistake. It’s as if his entire family have been waiting by the door since he left, with one addition, his _darling_ brother is now home.

“You’re back early” Kathy states, concerned.

“Callum realised he needs to run for the hills already?” Ian sneers, the sound of his slightly nasal voice making Ben want to turn his hearing aid off on instinct.

Lola comes to Ben’s side, her hand on his elbow as she whispers “you ok?”

“I’m fine, thank you Lo. Callum got called into work, that’s what happens when your job is actually important.” Ben retorts, eyeing Ian and almost bursting with satisfaction when his smile falters.

“I’ll have you know that feeding the people of Walford the finest cuisine East London has to offer is a very important job.”

God, this guy could weasel his way out of a mouse trap. “Not quite in the league of being a copper though, is it?” Ben muses, scratching at his stubble in mock consideration.

Ian scoffs, “yeah, you still think that’s a good idea?”

Ben shrugs, changing the subject “Speaking of your culinary _empire_ , I’ve got a bone to pick with you. Why didn’t you let us have a table? Had to go to McClunkey’s in the end.”

“ _McClunkeys!”_ Ian face screws up in disgust and Lola laughs. “You took Callum _there_ , Ben, that place is for teenagers, junkies and-“

“-And?” Lola challenges, defensive of the place her daughter was brought into the world.

“Nothing..” Ian relents, always the spineless rat.

“Come on then, I had a booking!”

“We had other bookings, with more people.”

“So you’re telling me that you cancelled my booking _without telling me_ so you could get more money from other people?”

“Yes. Its just good business Ben. One day you’ll thank me for all of these tips I’m giving away for free.”

For once in his life, Ben is speechless. The sheer ridiculousness of his brother has rendered him unable to think of a comeback.

“Anyway, tell us about your date, Ben. How did it go?” Kathy asks, taking advantage of Ben’s stupor, her eyes hungry for all the PG details.

Ben blows out a long breath, wondering how long he can stall for. The date went well for the most part, fast food, work calls and homophobic foetuses aside, when it was just him and Callum everything was right, everything was easy, everything _fit._

He opens his mouth to speak, unsure of what will come out when Lexi comes sauntering down the stairs, cuddly unicorn in tow, bouncing down each step where it hangs limply at her side.

“Lex, what are you doing up?” Lola asks.

“You were all being too _loud_. You woke me up!” Lexi cries stamping her foot and _god, she’s definitely Ben’s._

“Don’t worry baby, we’re finished now,” Ben says, bending down to sweep her into his arms, shooting his mother victorious smirk as he whisks her upstairs, his one-way ticket out of this interrogation.

Thankfully, Lexi falls asleep almost instantly when her head hits the pillow, maybe she’s not his afterall. He stays, stroking her head the way his mum used to for him, watching as her nightlight fades from pink to white and back again.

He stirs from his trancelike state a while later, his fingers still mindlessly brushing over his daughter’s hair. He strains to hear what’s happening downstairs and is rewarded when no sound comes back, everyone must have gone to bed already. He carefully slips out of his daughter’s reach and tiptoes downstairs, making sure he’s not heard in case his hearing had served him wrong and someone was still downstairs; it wouldn’t be the first time.

He breathes out a sigh of relief when he’s greeted by an empty house. He returns to the kitchen, grabbing himself a glass of water for bed when he sees his phone on the counter where he left it earlier. Picking it up, he sees a message from Callum and huffs a laugh when he sees the time stamp. 53 minutes ago.

**22:56 25.02.20**

**Callum:** _Monster trucks._

Ben’s face screws up, confusion rampant in his sleepy brain. Callum must have sent it to him by accident, it was probably meant for a mate, or his brother.

His brother.

Callum’s words from the other night hit Ben like a truck, his stomach dropping as the realisation dawns on him.

_He’d ask if I wanted to play with my monster trucks… it weren’t about playing at all, it was him asking if I was ok. If I needed help, an out, rescuing._

Suddenly he’s wide awake, pacing like a mad man in the kitchen, clutching his phone so hard the screen flickers. He thinks back to how he felt the other day when he thought Davies had hurt Callum, a bitter scoff escaping him because this, this is that on steroids.

His fingers move to phone Callum, but something stops him- if he’s in danger calling him might give the game away. He takes some deep breaths, feeling like the air barely passes his throat before it’s leaving him again and tries to think rationally.

Callum is in danger. He needs help. He needs Ben.

And Ben won't let history repeat itself.


	8. The eyes of the devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been the bane of my life, literally every time I came to write my brain would just switch off. I’m sorry if it’s terrible, I hope it’s not too disappointing and hopefully the next (last!!) chapter will be better!
> 
> I’m a bit nerovus posting this, I think it’s because it’s a bit darker and action-y (?) and I found it really hard to write (and as a result I feel like my writing is a bit iffy but oh well). I’ve written about 5 drafts of this chapter and was never happy, but I got to a point where I was looking at it too much which made it seem worse and I don’t think I’d be happy with whatever I did so I’m posting the one I hate the least.
> 
> Apologies for the wait (and for any of you who’ve been subjected to my complaining about it on tumblr). Thanks for reading and I hope you like this more than I do.
> 
> Tw: PLEASE READ
> 
> There's reference to Ben being bullied in prison because of his hearing and a very brief (fleeting) mention of Heather. There’s (unsurprisingly) a lot of talk about Paul, Ben has a flashback to the night he died (nothing graphic) and Davies is in this chapter so there's some homophobia (no slurs are used). There’s also description of injuries and blood and a moment where Ben purposefully hurts his hand on a wall. 
> 
> *Spoilers*  
> The second half of this chapter takes place on a railway bridge, and there's a moment that someone is almost hit by a train. They're not hit but I wanted to put that in here in case it's difficult for anyone to read, I've marked this part out (****) for anyone that wants to skip over it. Also the chapter ends with someone accidentally falling off the bridge. Please take care of yourselves and don't read this if it's not appropriate for you.  
> *Spoilers end*
> 
> Sorry, there's quite a lot here. Apologies if I've gone a bit overboard but it's better safe than sorry with these things. I tried to make it less potentially triggering and possibly change the location but I felt it fit with Ben's past and I couldn't think of another location where it would work. Realistically, there's nothing worse than what we get in the show in this so hopefully it is ok for the majority. 
> 
> Take care x

Callum’s going to die.

He can feel it in his bones, in the sharp sting that accompanies every intake of breath. He’s going to die and this time Ben will never see the light again.

He grasps the sides of the sink, knuckles whitening, body bent double as he retches, his entire body rippling with it. It grinds against his throat, the dry scrape that leads to him gasping for air in a locked chamber that only Callum has the key for.

He goes to shout for someone, only just managing to stop himself before any sound comes out as he remembers there’s no one here to hear it. No one to help him clean up a mess that he knows deep down isn’t his fault, it’s part of Callum’s job, an occupational hazard, but if he’d just kept his mouth shut all those years ago he would have found a way to fuck up his relationship with Paul on his own terms and none of this would have happened.

Ben’s out the door before it registers, into the icy winter air that makes his lungs ache instead of sting, finally. Now he might be able to get somewhere.

He’s stumbled into the Square, still at a loss for what to do, gasping, looking around like a deer in headlights, clouds of his breath pooling around him, doing nothing to clear the fog of panic in his mind. His hand closes around the railing of the memorial garden, chipped black paint giving way to copper rust that shines in contrast to the ghostly white of his fingers.

The ice-cold railing cements him as he squeezes hard, tiny flakes of black paint dig into his hand and come away with it, leaving small black flecks on his reddened palm when he releases it.

The sound of high heels clacking on the pavement brings him back to himself and the scrape of one against tarmac tunes him back in to his surroundings, propelling him into action, tectonic plates sliding beneath his feet.

“Jack!”

“Ben.” Jack sighs, somehow sounding surprised and already fed up all at once.

“Hello Ben,” Denise adds, clearly put out by Ben’s interruption.

“Where’s Callum?”

“I dunno. What he does in his own time is none of my business” Jack says, giving Ben a look as if to say he should follow suit.

“Yes you do. Jack please!”

“Uh- hang on, Ben. You can’t just come and gatecrash our night and start demanding answers from him! You know, he’s put so much into this case and he gets from you is grief, you should be thanking him.” When Ben doesn’t answer, keeps his stare firmly on Jack, Denise scoffs. “Right, well then, good night Ben” she scolds, looking Ben up and down before taking Jack’s arm and turning them towards their house.

“You texted him telling him to go into work.” Ben shouts after them, unable to keep his desperation from boiling over.

It has the desired effect and Jack freezes, stopping dead in his tracks and it floods Ben with both relief and heart sinking dread.

“..What are you talking about? No I didn’t?” Jack says slowly, turning back to Ben.

“Course you did,” at Jack’s blank expression Ben can _feel_ the blood draining from his face. “Give me your phone.” Ben reaches his hand out, palm up insistently and fingers locked straight to keep the shake at bay. Jack shares a glance with Denise but still reaches into his pocket.

“Hang on, how do you know what happened do Callum an hour ago? It’s gone eleven? Ah, right” he scoffs.

“I don’t have time for this just give me your phone!”

“You Mitchells-“ Jack halts, stilling when he checks his final pocket, eyes widening because his phone is nowhere to be found.

“Jack.” Ben starts, his voice careful and miraculously steady, “where’s your phone?”

“I dunno” everything moves in slow motion, even the sick Ben can feel climbing up his throat. But his heart hammers and blood fills his ears, his mind has never worked so quickly, so _messily_ before.

“Maybe you left it in the restaurant?” Denise says, trying to keep some sense of calm.

“Where is it Jack? Who has it?! It’s Davies innit, he’s got it and he’s got Callum.”

“Ben wait, just—just calm down will ya? We don’t know anyone has him, he’s probably fine!”

“No, he’s not I can feel it. He texted me that he’s in trouble.” Ben shoves his phone in Jack’s face, Callum’s words reflecting in Jack’s eyes.

“Monster trucks?”

“Yeah, it’s a thing he has with his brother. It means he’s in trouble.”

Jack glances at Denise “right cosy pair, ain’t ya?”

“Oh my god, Jack can you just listen to me for once in your pathetic little life? Callum is in trouble, right” he says, shaking the phone in his hand. “ And I’d bet anything that this is Davies, so what are we gonna do?”

“I ain’t seen Davies, there’s no way he could have my phone.”

“What, so you ain’t seen one of his _mates?_ Come on, you don’t need to be a criminal mastermind to know you get lackies to do your dirty work for ya. _”_ Jack stills again, jaw clenching in what Ben thinks is a move to stop it dropping open.

“You’re right. This could be nothing, its _not_ , but it could just be one big coincidence and Callum’s totally fine. But I can _feel_ that it’s not. I didn’t take that feeling seriously enough before, and two weeks later I was burying Paul. And I know you’ve never taken the danger this has put Callum in seriously, but Jack, I am begging you, do not make the same mistake I did. And do _not_ let Callum pay for it.”

Jack watches him closely with a guarded expression, cogs turning while Ben slowly looses his mind.

"Look, when him and his mates killed Paul it was a spur of the moment thing, right? But this time, if he's figured it out, that Callum's been working undercover, if he's had time to _plan_ this... Jack I don't know what he's gonna do." There's a pleading behind his desperation, one that Jack must finally hear because he nods in agreement. 

“Come on D, let’s get you home” taking Denise’s hand and leading her to the house before calling, “Ben, you too.”

Ben scoffs, he doesn’t have time for this. “I ain’t gonna hide away with a cuppa, I need to find him!”

“I know. Come with me.”

Denise looks almost apologetic when she places a cup of tea in front of him. He eyes her carefully, pushing it away and not feeling half as satisfied as he thought he would when she tuts in annoyance.

“Right, my phone’s not at the station and none of the other officers have heard from Callum. He’s not meant to be on duty tonight.”

“I know.” Ben spits. Callum’s not meant to be on duty tonight, he’s meant to be with Ben, sharing stories and coy glances; rattling his headboard and making his legs shake. “You’re telling me you’ve had me sat here doing fuck all while you spent the last 10 minutes on the phone to find out what we _already know?”_

“Ben it ain’t that simple”

“Yes it fucking is!” Ben shoots up out of his seat, squaring up to Jack.

“Oi! That ain’t gonna help is it?” Denise shouts, getting between them.

“What do we do? How do we find him, how do we _help_ him?” Jack watches carefully as Ben falls apart in front of him, each thought of what Davies might be doing to Callum worse than the last, each making Ben slip further away from reality. A flicker of something crosses Jack’s face, recognition, the realisation that Ben actually cares. Better late then never. He places his hand on Ben’s shoulder, Ben’s eyes following it with an unmasked look of disgust.

“Ben, I can see you’re worried about him but there’s a procedure we have to follow here-“ Jack’s cut off by his phone ringing again.

“Fuck this,” Ben shoves his arm away, making a beeline for the front door. “Have fun with your phone calls Branning.”

“Oi, you can’t just waltz out of here and go looking for Davies, where are you even gonna go?”

Ben’s hand makes contact with the handle on the street door and the chill of the metal makes something in his brain click, he same way the gun clicked behind his head on the night he went to Davies’ house. He knows exactly where to go. “You let me worry about that.”

“Ben-“Jack warns, pushing to door shut where Ben has opened it and instigating possibly the most testosterone-filled staring match Ben has had this year. It sends a thrill down his spine without his permission.

“Oh, for crying out loud” Denise mutters.

Jack’s stare falters and Ben’s about to smirk, about to enjoy his victory when a piercing scream shatters the air around him.

His eyes connect with Jack’s once again, the latter ordering a quick “D, stay here with the kids,” before they’re both out the door.

When they reach the market it's almost deserted, as it always is at this hour. Save for Jean, who's stood in the centre, panicked, vibrating on the spot and stubbornly ignoring Martin’s efforts to placate her. She's pointing and staring up at the railway bridge, muttering something Ben can't make out. 

“Jean? Jean what is it, are you alright?” Jack asks, taking her shoulders and shaking gently when her attention remains firmly above them.

Ben feels Jack fire a glance at him, but he doesn’t see it, because like Jean, every ounce of his attention is fixed twelve feet above them.

Twelve feet above them where he sees two silhouettes.

The first is shorter than the other, looks to be mostly skin and bone with short, tidy hair. The other figure is one Ben would know anywhere; near or far, high or low, warm in the cold light of day and sinful under the cover of night. 

A tall frame, imposing but not overbearing, a couple of inches added to it by gelled hair. Long, slightly lanky and at times uncoordinated arms, finished off by large, strong hands and ears that sick out a little, the remains of moonlight through the newly overcast night shining through the thin cartilage.

It’s a body that he knows so well and yet not nearly enough. A body that contains a heart so warm and kind, so underserving of _this_. Panic pulsates through his body; a feeling of _this can’t be happening_ meeting the feeling of already being resigned to the worst possible outcome. 

What really gets him though, what really roots him to the spot with terror, is how Callum’s body is moving, or more how it’s _not_ moving unless it’s by Davies’ hands. His arms are limp, and head keeps lolling to the side, knees buckling beneath him as Davies struggles to hold him up precariously close to the edge. Ben hears soft, incoherent moans and knows them too well to be able to pretend they’re not coming from Callum. They’re distant and laboured and Ben has the sudden urge to projectile vomit.

Davies shoves him again, and Callum falls to the ground, hard, ricocheting off the wall at and odd angle and Ben wants to explode, his entire body rigid and coursing with blind rage.

Tears sting his eyes and his lips hurt from being pressed together so hard between his teeth when he parts them, his throat barely having the chance to get a sound out before a hand is clamped over is mouth. “Shut up. You shout for him and you give the game away, any advantage we might have against Davies is gone, you hear me?” Jack’s voice is harsh, commanding in his ear and Ben doesn’t have a choice but to do as he’s told. “Backup’s on its way. Now, you go over there, and you stay quiet.”

Before he knows it, Ben’s vision is blurred by swirling blue lights, distant sirens fading as police cars draw closer, headlights blinding him as they turn into the Square. A swarm of uniforms flood the area, putting up cordons and ushering residents who have come outside to see what all the fuss is about away from the bridge.

He notices Martin still at Jean’s side, trying to get her behind the cordon. Their eyes catch in a hostile exchange, a glint of fucked up reminiscence barging its way in uninvited. Which one of them is more bitter, Ben doesn’t know, and he doesn’t have time to concern himself with that right now.

“Leave him.” Jack’s voice booms loud and firm when a rookie officer tries to get Ben behind the cordon, saving the officer from a bloody nose and Ben from a night behind bars. He nods at Ben like they have an understanding, like after everything that’s happened between them in the past is erased and they’re good now. Like fuck they are, as long as Jack ignored Ben’s warnings about _this very situation_ , as long as Jack’s down here with his copper mates following _protocol_ and Callum’s up there seconds away from being beaten or thrown to his death, him and Jack are anything but _good._

It’s happening again, he can feel it, he knows it. Last time he knew they were in danger, his body was running for his life even before his mind had realised, because there was no point that night where he actually thought that him or Paul would lose their lives. Get beaten to a pulp, sure, but _killed?_ That was never a possibility.

But now he knows.

He’s older, harder, wiser from experience. He knows what’s at stake here, and he knows what Davies is capable of. He knows that if he plays this wrong then he’ll be saying goodbye to another person he cares about lying on a cold, hard slab in a morgue come morning light. Yet here he is, stuck still, sentencing Callum to death through his inaction, barely managing to keep his breathing regular while all the possible futures he’s only recently started to believe he could have are narrowed down to one.

His hands find the brick of Ian’s wall, pressing further and further into the course cement until it hurts, until a decision is made, until he can feel a moistness between his skin and the wall.

“Daddy!”

Ben jumps, thrown off by the sudden presence of his daughter. He quickly wipes the dots of blood on his trousers and shoots Lola a weary look. Lexi’s lingering at the mouth of Ian’s garden gate in her rainbow pyjamas and slippers, clutching her unicorn toy tightly in her arms. Lola is hot on her heels, the pair of them clearly disturbed by the commotion outside.

“Hey princess” he says as softly as he can muster, hoping Lexi misses how his voice catches, grates on his throat and knowing that would’ve been all Lola heard.

He crouches down to be face to face with his daughter, her pale grey eyes reflecting the confusion and fear in his own. He can’t do this right now; he can’t look into her eyes and see everything he will be leaving behind if this goes wrong.

“Daddy, is that your friend?” Lexi asks, her tiny finger pointing to he bridge where Callum is leant perilously against the side while Jack and his lackies try to talk Davies down. They’re doing a pretty shit job by the looks of things.

“Yeah, yeah it is,” He manages to get out. Lola’s gone white as a sheet, her grip on Lexi’s shoulder tightening.

“Is he ok?” Lexi asks, he voice small and hesitant. Ben sucks in a breath, his daughter’s concern for Callum making his chest constrict painfully. The air shakes violently when he exhales so he plasters on a fake smile and taps his daughter on the nose.

“Go inside, baby. Mummy will read you a story, right Lo?” he assures, giving Lola a look that says _why the fuck is she out here?_

“Yeah, yeah course.” Lola replies, a _have you seen all this?_ _She’s scared, Ben_ written on her face.

“But daddy-“

“Daddy will be in soon. Won’t he?” Lola interjects with a pointed look to Ben, letting him know without a shadow of a doubt that there was no question in there, just a demand that he will come home safely to his little girl. He gives Lola a grim look before shooting Lexi a smile that he hopes doesn’t look as half hearted as it feels.

“Course I will baby, wouldn’t miss time with you for the world.” He pulls her close, breathing her in and wishes more than anything he was back with her a few nights ago, curled up in her bed safely with their backs to the world. “Go inside now, don’t want you catching a cold.” He says, tapping her on the cheek and kissing her forehead. Lola gives him yet another warning look. _Yeah, I know._

“Come on, Jeremy, you don’t have to do this” are the words Ben’s greeted with when he decides to tune back into the piss poor negotiation efforts. Jack’s standing next to the officer that spoke, looking tense and by the looks of it, trying to get a look at Callum’s condition from twelve feet below him in the almost complete dark, save for the patchy glow of a couple of dim street lights.

Ben takes another deep, decisive breath when his eyes land on the maintenance ladder tucked away in the alley next to the café. Another glance to Jack tells him that he’s still preoccupied, and he allows himself a last glimpse at Lexi’s pink-tinged bedroom window before he tucks his trembling hands into his pockets and slips around the back of the market stall frames as his feet move with a hell of a lot more certainty than his mind.

He can’t move too fast as to not arouse suspicion; he can’t draw any eyes to him. But this is fucking killing him. Watching as his feet take a step, and another and another, each one pounding louder in his ears as it picks up because he’s not watching a live feed, he’s replaying a memory where his feet are moving as fast as they can possibly carry him, his ring glimmering in the glow of streetlights, all shiny and new and not tarnished by years’ worth of wear. His heartbeat is filling his ears and pulsating like a drum through his body, each inhale stings his airway, blood tricking into his eye from his forehead. He can taste metal on his tongue, lungs bruising against damaged ribs but there’s still not enough air, not enough time, not enough…--

His hand grasps the ladder like a life ring. The first breath after almost drowning; gasping and agonizing and basking in what a revelation it is to still be alive. A dull chime rings out where his ring- the one he recognises, discoloured, and littered with tiny scratches and imperfections- meets the dull metal, plunging him back to the present as he presses his forehead into it, takes a moment to _breathe_.

His body moves without his permission, hauling himself up the ladder and it _hurts_ but he keeps going because nothing could be more painful than letting someone else slip through his fingers. Because he knows, deep in his bones that there would be no coming back this time.

His shoe crunches on the gravel of the train track and its music to his ears, something foreign, something that can’t place him back _there_.

He can see Davies, he must be twenty feet away, leaning over the side talking to the officers on the ground. Callum’s on the floor behind him, the haphazard splay of his limbs and sickening stillness tells Ben that he’s not conscious and his heart pounds and stops all at once.

He takes slow, quiet steps towards them, making an effort to stay in the shadows, praying to a god that’s long since forgotten about him that he doesn’t make a sound.

But he does.

Davies' head whips to the side, his eyes finding Ben so fast its almost comical. It would be, at least, if Ben wasn't once again doomed by this man's presence. 

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Let him go.” Callum stirs a little and Ben has to convince himself that it wasn’t caused by his voice, this is neither the time nor the place for that kind of thinking.

_How about you both get out of this alive, then you can go for the romantic bullshit, ay?_

“Who, _him?_ ” Davies sneers, hauling Callum up by his jacket and holding him in a headlock. Callum’s legs crumble beneath him, his entire body slack and Ben’s concerned he’s going to be slowly strangled in Davies’ grasp.

“He your mate, is he? Another _school buddy?_ Wanting to reconnect after all these years?” He directs his words at Callum, holding his face up roughly by his hair, laughing at the groans of pain coming from the barely conscious man in his arms and Ben’s shaking with the effort it’s taking not to go and rip his fucking head off.

“Don’t you fucking touch him!” Ben grinds out, moving towards him but he’s stopped dead when Davies pulls a gun on him with a shrug and a quirk of his eyebrow. _Checkmate_.

“As you wish” he says carelessly, opening his arms and letting Callum drop to the floor like a sack of bricks. Ben goes to move again but Davies clicks the gun and Ben’s stopped once again, holding his hands at his sides. He glances over the side and sees Jack looking at him, furious and disappointed but he’ll be fucked of he’s feeling guilty for going against him.

“I know you.” Davies says, his brow furrowing as he tries to place Ben’s face. It doesn’t take long, though, and his face relaxes and eyes flicker in recognition. “Oh, oh I _do know you_. You’re that bloke who thinks I killed his boyfriend.”

“ _Thinks?!_ I know what you did, I was there I-“

“Listen, mate, I barely got my hands dirty.” Davies says, raising his hands to his sides like that alone will prove his innocence, like he’s not holding a loaded gun in one of them.

“You were.. telling them what to do. Screaming at them to go after us, cheering when Paul fell-“

“And then what? What happened next, huh? Only you wouldn’t know, would you? Because you legged it.”

He knows it’s true, has spent years torturing himself for it. But hearing it from someone else’s mouth, someone who was there, who actually knows what happened that night and isn't just trying to placate him with lies hits Ben square in the chest.

“I was scared, I thought he’d get back up. I thought he was behind me!” His face is wet with years’ worth of tears because sure, he’s talked to his mum and Jay and therapists, but he’s never done this. Spoken to someone who was there, who can actually give him answers.

He wants more than anything to let rip. To scream and shout and fight until Davies gets it, how wrong he is, how good Paul was, how much of a piece of shit he is for what he’s done. But there’s no point, because he’ll never get it. Ben won’t change his mind, make him regret what he did and even if he could, it wouldn’t bring Paul back. He’s gone. Confined to memories, to the freedom he gave Ben without even realising, the love he radiated every time he smiled. Known to those who knew him as a beautiful, loving young man; known to strangers by a violent death he didn’t deserve.

He looks to Callum, splayed out on the gravel, fingers twitching on occasion being the only thing telling Ben he’s alive. He needs to protect him, do everything in his power to make sure he’s ok, get him far away from himself once this is all over. He needs to get home to Lexi, give Jay one of their rare hugs tomorrow because despite Davies' best efforts, despite Ben feeling like he doesn't deserve it, he's rebuilt his life and he has people to live for.

“You ruined my life.” It leaves him without his permission, his voice hard, quivering at the edges with the rage bubbling under the surface but he'll take that over sounding like the timid broken boy he really is any day. He needs to say it out loud, just once. Just to one of the people it applies to.

“Good” Davies sneers. It’s the same sneer that’s lived in Ben’s nightmares for years, preserved in ice from the night the man standing feet in front of him punched and kicked the man Ben loved until the life bled out of him.

It takes every drop of strength in Ben’s body not to swing for him, tackle Davies to the ground and settle this the Mitchell way. He knows its not the answer, in a twisted way its part of what got him here in the first place, and even Ben can see that repeatedly trying to solve a problem with the same solution is insanity.

He looks down at Callum, who’s starting to come round, grimacing as the weight of his injuries starts to hit him. Ben’s eyes trail upwards, only a foot or so away where Davies’ gun is hanging by his side, poised and alert, ready to blow Ben’s world apart with the pull of a trigger.

No, as much as it kills him, he has to play this Davies’ way. Although if there was a furnished room to smash up right about now he wouldn’t say no.

Davies’ glances at Callum and hums as if he’d forgotten he was even there. “You and your _boyfriend,_ it wasn’t right, disgusting. I was just trying to teach you a lesson. Although.." he continues, looking between Ben and Callum on the floor. "It looks to me like you didn’t learn the first time round, so… maybe I need to teach you another lesson tonight?” He says, moving purposefully, almost in slow motion, Ben watching in horror as he aims the gun at Callum.

“NO!”

Davies blows out a sigh, like he’s considering what to do, playing with the life of someone Ben cares about again like it’s some kind of sport. He laughs, hollow and void of humanity. His eyes bore into Ben’s, like he’s reading him, identifying every weak spot and taking note of how to rip Ben apart piece by piece to cause maximum damage.

Ben’s no angel. He’s been called all the names under the sun in his time, he’s got a list of enemies at least double the length of his friends but here and now a shiver slips down his spine because this, _this_ is like looking into the eyes of the devil.

Davies exhales again, long and deep, closing his eyes and it’s almost carnal the way he’s enjoying this. It makes Ben’s stomach turn. “Ahh, see I was always gonna hurt him. I mean, he played me. He deserves it, right? But knowing this.. knowing what this will do to you. _You,_ who’s gotten my friends sent down with your lies, tried to throw me to the wolves so many times. I bet this was all your idea, weren’t it? Loverboy coming in, tryna get me to _confess._ A true knight in shining armour. How _romantic.”_

“Leave him out of this.”

“You know, not everything’s about you, mate. Callum screwed me over, set me up for his copper mates and he needs to pay for that. Was I gonna kill him? Probably not. But you coming here, shouting the odds, giving me grief, well, its made me reconsider. Does that sound familiar?”

Ben’s shaking. His body no longer his own, trembling with the adrenaline, the memories, the regret. He’s always blamed himself for Paul’s death, but over the years its gotten slowly easier to separate his attempt at getting Davies and his mates to leave them alone from their despicable act. But now he’s standing here, with the life of someone else he cares about, someone else he could love, hanging by a thread. Listening to the words confirming his guilt from the lips of the only other person who was there that night who’s neither dead or incarcerated and it’s all Ben needs to undo four years of painstaking work.

“Take me instead. I deserve it, he doesn’t.” Ben hates the way it sounds like he’s begging but he is. It's for himself as much as Callum, he can't live with any more blood on his hands, especially not Callum's. 

“You really don’t listen, do you?” 

“Please, you don’t have to do this”

The words burn. Ben hears them being uttered to himself, by police, Jay, Lola, his mum, even Paul. But that was different. A different context, a different life. If he wasn’t scared shitless right now he’d be laughing at how fast the tables turn, how precarious life is, the fragility of his Mitchell bravado that has never got him anywhere good.

“I know I don’t." He says, and if there was an ounce of sincerity in this man it all would have been on display in those four words. But like most repreives, it's fleeting. "But I want to.”

Ben swallows hard, forcing the patience that is wearing very thin down with it. He chances a glance down at Jack to see if he heard that, if him and the boys in blue are gonna _finally_ _fucking do something_ but he’s met with radio silence. Jack’s on the phone, looking tense like he’s arguing with whoever’s on the other end of the line.

****

Then he stops, his body going limp as he stares up at Ben, eyes wide and mouth agape. He doesn’t have time to wonder what’s wrong because the lights are blinding him already, a horn vibrating through the ground into Ben’s bones. A train is coming. Now.

In the second Davies turns, making the same realisation Ben grabs a now somewhat conscious Callum, dragging him to his feet and moving him to the side of the track. He checks him over, cuts and bruises and no doubt some internal damage, Callum’s eyes are glassy and unfocused and Ben pretends they don’t remind him of Heather’s.

“Callum, are you ok-“

He barely has time to finish his sentence before hands are wrapping around his throat, the unmistakable press of a gun against his jugular, squeezing his airway. Davies kicks the back of his knees, knocking his feet out from under him. He’s being dragged backwards, unable to fight, to do anything other than listen to the ragged breaths in his ear that make his blood run cold, have his entire body shaken by the force of the now constant wailing of the train horn.

While Jack and the other officers are shouting in the chaos on the ground, Ben clocks a group of officers who have made their way onto the bridge but are hanging back for their own safety. Meanwhile Ben’s trapped in a fucking headlock millimetres away from the track with an oncoming train and a gun to his throat and despite breathing rapidly, too fast and too deep for there to be no air entering his lungs, a light-headedness edges his consciousness, black spots prickling his vision.

The train is close, that’s all he knows. Close enough for his hair to be blowing and skin to be covered in goosebumps. Close enough that every tiny stone and piece of grit that’s flying in the air that hits him it feels like a warm up, a precursor to what’s about to happen.

He takes one last look at Lexi’s window and part of him is grateful he doesn’t have enough life in him to think too hard. To regret everything. To make a comprehensive list of everything he’s leaving behind. Tears fall and his vision blurs as he mouths _I love_ you to his daughter as she sleeps. As he's about to lose everything.

Ben’s face smacks into the ground, gravel coarse and sharp beneath him, embedding itself into his cheek. Dirt and stones are kicked up into his face as the train passes, barely a foot from his nose and a spark from the wheel shuddering against the track burns a hole in his jacket.

****

He turns quickly, faster than he thought possible for someone who should be a dead man, and sees Davies behind him, equally dazed. Callum’s leaning on the wall, panting, his hands still wrapped tightly around Davies’ ankle from where he yanked him to the ground, unorthodox, but it worked. It saved him, pulled him to safety, back to his daughter.

_You’re not out of this yet, Mitchell._

A muted shout chimes as Davies’ leg collides with Callum’s chest and in his mind he’s fighting, kicking and punching Davies’ head in but in reality his body is heavy and mind infuriatingly slow. He’s incapacitated, useless, just like he was to Paul.

Hands are on him as he’s pulled to his feet. Davies is in his face, spitting and shouting words that don’t penetrate. Ben’s eyes fall to the ground where his hearing aid is lying amongst the grit and graffiti. The sound imbalance makes it even harder to get his bearings, find some kind of stability and grasp on reality.

“CAN YOU HEAR ME?!”

He hears that. As loud and clear as all the jumped-up little shits who used to scream it at him every morning in prison, rattling the bars of his bed, banging their shoes against the wall and when all else failed throwing them at him because _no, no he couldn’t._ Not really, not in the way they meant.

The mere fact that Davies reminded him of arsehole teenagers who bullied Ben to the point of praying for oblivion makes him remember who this man is. What he did, how tiny and pathetic his life must be to care enough about someone else’s happiness to kill them for it, how he will pay for every last thing if it’s the last thing Ben does.

Its then that he remembers who _he_ is. The Mitchell son, the man who will do anything for the people he cares about, the man who vowed to be a better father than his own, the man who Paul spent his final moments wishing was by his side. The man who promised not to let history repeat itself only an hour or so ago.

And he won’t.

Ben lifts his knee, as fast as his body permits. He kicks back, hits Davies right in the knee and he stumbles backwards. Ben lunges for him, adrenaline and the unquenchable thirst for revenge carrying him, making his muscles move, one filament sliding over another until he lands a fist on Davies’ face. And another. And another.

It’s amazing. The sweetest fucking bliss he’s ever felt because finally, _finally_ he’s doing something, fighting back. Hands grab and arms obstruct as the officers finally get their act together and intervene. But it’s too late, Ben’s got this now. They’re just ruining it.

The confusion gives Davies time to recover from Ben’s onslaught, and a scuffle breaks out. Hands and fists are everywhere, grabbing at arms, flung in faces, pushing at bodies, Ben can’t even tell where his own are.

Somewhere amongst the chaos, Davies somehow gets free. He lunges for Ben and before he can process the crunch of his cheekbone against a fist there’s a wall behind him, waist height, solid and dense and not enough to keep him from finally tipping over the edge.

Air whooshes past his ears, the disparity in his hearing making him dizzy. He’s falling, falling and time is hurtling past him. Almost his entire life has been lived on this square. Every heartache, every laugh, every dodgy deal and cutting remark from his dad, every sickening knot in his stomach he’s had sat in the back of a police car.

If he saw it on the news, read it in the morning paper he’d probably find some twisted humour in it that his mum would chastise him for. After all, there's something ironic, poetic almost, in someone who’s life and family is so rooted on Albert Square will meet his end at the heart of it.

Time is hurtling past him, speeding through each agonising year until it stops. Jolts through his body and the wind is knocked out of him again.

There’s a hand on his wrist tight and firm. His pulse is hammering against the pressure of it and god, if he ever needed a reminder that he’s alive now’s the time.

His eyes trace up the hand that’s holding him, the arm keeping that’s him steady. He doesn’t need to, though, he knows.

It’s Callum.

Blood trickles down his face from his eyebrow, his bottom lip is swollen, and his body is drooping over the side of the wall, heavy with pain but the tight clench of his jaw, the way the sinews strain in his neck, the way his eyes are alive with a determination Ben wishes isn’t too little too late gives him a hope he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Their eyes meet and Ben knows, even while his life is literally hanging by a thread, that as long as Callum’s in the world he’s safe. Because Callum’s has a past too, one that he lives with a tenacious need not to have repeated either.

Jack shouts something Ben doesn’t catch from below, and Callum’s attention momentarily shifts to him. He’s straining to hear, understand Jack’s words but then Ben sees it too and realises what he’s trying to say. Jack’s trying to warn them.

Davies looms behind Callum, who’s still unaware and resolutely trying to keep Ben from plummeting to the ground.

“Cal-“

He doesn’t even have time to get the word out before the sound of a gun cracking against the back of Callum’s skull makes him feel sick, Callum’s body crumbles, his hand going slack around Ben's like a puppet with it’s strings cut.

The air is forced out of Ben’s lungs as he falls, a last self-indulgent glance to Lexi’s bedroom window winds him even more. No, it’s not self-indulgence, that doesn’t burn like this. That was one last tortuous moment of Ben’s life brought on entirely by his own doing.

Ben knows nothing.

Nothing except he was in the air and now he’s on the ground. He’s on the ground and everything hurts. He registers a blinding pain in his shoulder, the way his head throbs, how the police are still keeping people away from the area, the commotion still ongoing despite Ben’s world collapsing around him.

A tear escapes from the corner of his eye, it stings a little as it finds a cut on its journey, sliding across the bumps of his ear into a puddle on the street.

He’s slipping away, he can feel it. So much so that he barely registers when the air is shaken by a gunshot, and another. So much so that he barely registers the dead weight as it lands on top of him, blood spreading like wildfire on his shirt.

What he does register, though, is the familiarity of it, it's expanse. The press of a body he’s felt before, has longed to feel again.

He doesn’t even have time to panic at what it means before the world fades to black around him.


	9. 23 years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the final chapter! I’ve written these notes a few times, not sure what to say but I think it boils down to this:
> 
> Firstly, I’m so sorry it has taken me so long to get this out, I really didn’t mean to drag it out this long, but many things have gotten in the way (including me losing half of the chapter when I was very close to posting it a couple of weeks ago- I think it might soon be time for a new laptop) so I apologise for that. Also, this chapter is crazy long, not sure how that happened really, I guess I got a bit carried away.
> 
> Obviously, I want to say a massive thank you to everyone who has read, left kudos or comments on here, I’m so so grateful. It blows my mind that anyone reads what I write, let alone feels compelled to leave feedback so thank you again. And thank you for your patience with my unpredictable posting, it’s been a bit haphazard I know. 
> 
> (Also apologies to anyone who saw that I posted this earlier, I accidently clicked post instead of preview when I was proofreading so had to delete it quickly!)
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much again for your support (and patience) for this fic, it really means the world. I've really loved writing it (for the most part) and I hope you like how the story wraps up. 
> 
> I hope everyone is safe and as well as possible, take care x 
> 
> Tw: Ben has some flashbacks to the bridge, nothing graphic. There is reference to Ben’s childhood, (very brief) internalised homophobia and Phil teasing him due to his hearing. There is another moment where Ben uses pain as a grounding force and description of injuries (nothing graphic, just bruising etc).

Ben stifles a yawn as the taxi pulls up outside his brother’s house. He moves as quickly as his fragile body will allow, needing to get away from his mum as swiftly as possible. She’s been shooting him worried looks and jolting towards him with a face full of concern and an _are you ok? Did it hurt?_ Every time the taxi drove over a pothole, which in London is a lot. Sixteen in a ten-minute drive, to be precise. Not that he’s counting.

Kathy busies herself with paying the driver who makes no attempt to hide that fact that he couldn’t give less of a shit about her telling him her _son is home from hospital today and she’s so happy to have him home- it really looked touch and go there for a minute_ even though it didn’t. Sure, he was in a bad way, the healing scar on his left shoulder blade, infuriating lethargy and the fact that taking any kind of deep breath stings his torso are proof of that. But he’s ok, he’s here. It’s not like he got shot.

The driver stares blankly at Kathy, looking like his soul has left his body and Ben doesn’t blame the poor sod, he doesn’t care either and he is the medical marvel offspring in question. Undeterred or maybe oblivious to the driver’s disinterest, she keeps yapping away, only snapping back to herself when Ben speaks.

“Mum, get the bags will ya?” his voice is louder and harder than he meant it to be but he’s tired and in pain and she’s been getting on his last nerve ever since the doctor said he could be discharged in a few days all being well. Well, it has been a few days, and here he is. Home sweet home.

He casts his eyes over the market and his first thought of _has it always been this colourful and vibrant?_ is quickly silenced by his better judgement. He can’t be getting emotional over the fucking market, he’d rather be dead.

Instead he watches as Whitney and Shrimpy giggle over something or another, whatever it is it’s probably mind numbingly boring and _normal_ and Ben wouldn’t get it anyway.

_Don’t look up._

His eyes skirt to the café, where Jay is walking out from and saying goodbye to a mate Ben doesn’t recognise and he tries to pretend it doesn’t send a shock of jealousy through his broken body. Jay’s eyes light up when he sees Ben, and the shame hits. _He’s your brother you idiot, nothing comes close to that._

“Oi oi, there he is!” He says as he approaches, raising a hand to clap Ben on the shoulder before stopping last minute in response to the small shake of the head Ben gives him. A rare sign of weakness that’s wasted half a second later when his mum bumps into him with a particularly bulky bag.

The noise escapes him before he fully registers the agony, which is a blessing and a curse, because the fire that’s spreading through his back and chest, radiating from his left shoulder is almost unbearable and if he had the chance he’d be in tears. A few passers-by cast glances at him, some of surprise, some of confusion, wanting to know where the sound came from. All of silent scolding judgement.

“Watch it mum, I only had my stitches out yesterday,” he wants it to be harsh, biting. Let out some of the frustration that’s been building at her mothering him for the last couple of weeks, channel the heat he mistakenly spoke to her earlier with, but it isn’t. It’s hoarse and weak, void of anything. He’s getting it all wrong today.

_Don’t look up._

He inhales sharply, pain stabbing his lungs like knives, every last atom of oxygen in him going to stoke the fire in his shoulder.

“Sorry love!” she calls but if she says anything else it falls on deaf ears because Ben’s done the thing every part of his body has been screaming at him not to do.

He stares impassively at the flaking grey paint and rusted bolts, **12’6** stares back at him like the bridge’s own eyes, boring into him, taunting. It doesn’t even look that tall, it’s a bridge for god’s sake, not a weapon, it doesn’t look like it’s capable of doing the damage it did to him, to Callum. But Ben learnt a long time ago that anything can be a weapon if in the wrong hands; and a bridge is no exception, neither is a picture frame. Even his own thoughts that started out as childish imagination but somewhere down the line twisted into something ugly, corrosive, wearing Ben down every time they intruded his consciousness.

Ben has walked under this bridge every day for as long as he can remember, the grubby brickwork long since faded into the background of the Square that for better or worse, is the only place that’s ever resembled anything like a home. It stands tall, an unusual stoicism about it, typically serving an occasional shelter from a sudden rain pour, a nesting spot for the odd pigeon, on occasion a platform for making a threat or two when needs must.

Tall. Unassuming. Ominous. Just another everyday thing that has the power to destroy, to kill. Another everyday thing like crossing the road or getting into a car or on a plane that’s potential danger has been conditioned out of people otherwise they’d never leave the house.

Out of the corner of his eye Whitney shakes down one of the dresses on her stall, it’s garish and covered in sequins that send a flash of pink his way as they catch the sunlight and it’s all the fuel Ben needs to deepen his spiral, hammering it full pelt into the abyss. One moment he’s blinded by the flash, the next he’s looking up to Lexi’s window, pink bleeding out around the edges of the curtains like some kind of portal, a gateway to something eternal if only he could reach it.

He stares transfixed as the light fades around him, the people in the market morphing into crowds of police, some crappy music playing on one of the stalls that’s mostly base and totally awful adopting the broken rhythm of Davies’ ragged breaths and Callum’s semi-conscious groans of pain above him. There might be two weeks and twenty feet of market between them, but Ben is back there in an instant.

None of that matters though because Lexi’s behind the curtain. A faceless silhouette clutching a toy in one hand and reaching out for her dad in the other, desperate, frantic. He feels the pull of her tiny hand in his chest and it brings tears with it. If he looked down he’s sure he would be able to see it but he can’t because if he did he’d see her hand interwoven with his own. The pale, puppy fat-encased hand of a little boy from days gone by who still has good in him, who’s scared and alone and just wants to love the things he loves, the people he loves but he can’t.

It scares him, how much of himself he sees in her. Whenever he’s mentioned it to Lola or his mum they always shrug it off, _kids are meant to look like their parents, Ben_ and they’re right, but that’s not what he means. Sure, she resembles him, but it’s not that, its so much more than that. It’s the childish wonder that spills out of her eyes, they way she’s always in her own little world because its so much brighter, so much safer than the real one she’s been forced into, the way she cares so much for everyone and everything. He sees those things in her an he hurts, physically _aches_ because he knows her, and he knows who he is now, and it makes him need to protect her even more.

He’s breathing faster and shallower than his body can handle right now but the flames licking his lungs are nothing compared to the ache in his heart. He needs to protect her in the way he couldn’t protect that little boy. He needs to stop the light from going out in her world too.

“Mate? You alright?” Ben jolts at Jay’s hand on his arm, the discomfort intensifying but at least it gives him something to hold on to, some sense of reality as the market springs back to life around him. Whitney watches him with caution and Jay stares at him, searching for an answer.

“Yeah, all good” he clears his throat to try to get rid of some of the tightness in his voice. “Let’s just get home, yeah?” It didn’t work.

“Uh.. yeah. About that-“

“Come on you two!” Kathy calls brightly, closing Ian’s back gate after dropping Ben’s bags inside. Ben shoots Jay a look and Jay stares back, an apology in his eyes.

“Ayy, come on, plonk yourself down ‘ere.” Jay says as he guides Ben to a seat at their table in the Vic. The lightness of his tone contradicts the cast iron grip he has on Ben’s good shoulder, the sympathetic half smile on his lips.

Well, Ben doesn’t need sympathy from anyone, but he knows that with his mum about ready to hold a candlelit vigil for him every five seconds, Jay is probably his best chance of getting out of here any time soon. He needs to keep him on side.

“How long to I have to be here?” Ben mutters to Jay as he settles in beside him.

“Give it a minute, yeah? We’re happy to have ya home, we was really worried you know, and it ain’t just this either,” he says nudging his head towards Ben’s arm in a sling. “It’s the whole Paul thing an’ all.” Ben huffs, of course he’s going for the guilt trip. His eyes follow his mum’s hand as she places a beer in front of his brother, his gaze hovering on a foam drip that’s running down the outside of the glass, a smooth path in the condensation in its wake. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, Jay’s right. He has been to hell and back lately but here he is, sat in the pub with his mum and his brother around him, chatting and watching the world go by. It’s weird. It’s nice.

Then she puts a lemonade in front of him and any pretence of this being a normal afternoon drink is forgotten.

“This is alright, ain’t it?” Jay asks when Kathy slips off to the loo after half an hour of enduring her puppy dog eyes and neighbours that don’t actually give a shit about Ben coming up to them and giving their own iteration of _it’s good to have you back on your feet_ when really they just want the inside scoop on what happened.

“I can’t even have a proper drink.”

“Well, no, not at the moment with your meds but in a week or two we can have a right knees up, what d’ya reckon?”

“You asking me on a date? Ok fine I’ll go,” Ben sighs dramatically, before adding with a wink, “better not tell Lo though, ay?”

Jay does his signature _I’m done with your shit_ eye roll and head shake and Ben’s halfway through thinking he should get some kind of copyright on it when he feels the vibration in his hand that’s resting on the table. He’s reaching for his phone before the screen has fully lit up, ignoring the smirk Jay sends him over the rim of his glass.

He’s been relentless ever since they gave him his phone in the hospital, checking it every few minutes and that’s when he’s exercising some restraint. He’d be looking every few seconds if he had his way, he’s so desperate to hear from Callum, to know he’s ok, to have some kind of proof that he means as much to Callum as Callum does to him. He hates it, and the worst part is he’s _angry_ about it. This irrational anger bubbling in him that’s unfounded and ugly but he can’t help it, can’t fight it, can’t stop it growing each time it’s not Callum’s name lighting up his screen.

A teenage Louise’s smug voice rings through his head, _You know you’ve got it bad if going 5 minutes without checking your phone is an achievement_ she’d said when they still had much to say to each other and he was hung up on Johnny Carter. She bet him a fiver he couldn’t go an hour without checking his phone and he didn’t touch it for the rest of the day. It might have signalled the beginning of the end of him and Johnny but at least he got a coffee and a bacon roll out of it. Some things are more important.

He deflates when he looks at the screen, not only is the text not from Callum, it’s from his fucking _phone company._ The sudden urge to laugh like a maniac until he cries is overwhelming; there was a time not too long ago where Ben’s phone would be chiming off the hook, bursting with guys begging him for a night of his company if only he’d be so kind. Now he’s praying for a text from a guy who clearly doesn’t want him and getting goodnight texts from fucking Vodafone.

“Still nothing from Callum then?” Jay smirks.

“Dunno what you’re talking about.” Ben shrugs as he downs his lemonade. Fuck.

Jay scoffs and Ben bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing or screaming or both.

“Daddy!” Lexi shouts the second the door of the Vic opens, flinging her bookbag backwards into Lola’s arms and bolting towards her father.

 _That_ pink tinge edges into the corners of his vision but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it before Lexi’s jumping onto his lap, a chorus of _be carefuls_ accompany his groan of pain but he holds Lexi firm because she’s the person he’s been dying to see through all of this. She had come to see him in the hospital once or twice but had found it all too upsetting, so he and Lola agreed on settling for a daily videocall instead. It wasn’t the same, but it got Ben through the days that felt more endless the stronger he got, that and counting down the days until he could see her in the flesh.

“How come you’re here missy? Last I checked little girls like you are supposed to be in school at this time?”

“Got a stomach ache, ain’t ya Lex?” Lola deadpans and Lexi’s face falls from a bright smile to a grimace of ‘pain’.

“Yeah, yeah it’s really bad,” she whines, rubbing her belly with a wide-eyed glance up to her dad.

“Is it, baby?” He says, pressing a kiss to her hair before leaning towards Lola so he’s out of earshot of Lexi and asking in a low voice, “why is our clearly perfectly healthy daughter in a pub on a Wednesday lunch time?”

“She told her teacher she was ill,” Lola starts, making no effort to prevent Lexi from hearing her. “They called me to come take her home, I told ‘em she was fine but they wouldn’t listen. Then she started screaming the place down about how she was gonna be sick and they couldn’t get her out of there fast enough.” She takes a long inhale, closing her eyes like she’s trying to meditate or something, not hesitating for a second when Jay hands her a G&T and takes a couple of hearty gulps. Parenting is hard.

Ben tries and fails to conceal his smile, watching his daughter as he chows down on a packet of crisps. “I probably shouldn’t be as proud as I am right now, should I?”

“No, you shouldn’t.” Lola says dryly.

Well, that’s that then.

The next few days pass in a blur. The days flying by, the hours dragging on, minutes stretching unbearably; every second feeling like an hour when he’s agonising over Callum. Where he is, why he hasn’t come to see him, why Ben hasn’t gone to him, interpreting everything he’s overheard about him in every way imaginable and then some, trying to decode every look Stuart has sent his way when they’ve crossed paths in the Square or Stuart’s caught him lingering outside the funeral parlour. It’s not a new activity to him, but it’s taken on a whole new meaning as of late.

In reality, each disgruntled look and exasperated sigh from the older Highway brother probably means exactly what they look like, Stuart’s not exactly a skilled codemaster, but in Ben’s mind they were secret messages from Callum himself. A private moment, a clandestine admission, a language to decipher.

_Just. Call. Him._

It’s a load of crap, he _knows_ this, knows he’s being crazy, reading in between lines that aren’t there, adding 2+2 and getting 5. Its tortuous business, finding meaning where there is none, not to mention a complete waste of time, but Ben’s a pro, always has been. With Phil as his father he’s always needed to be. But as each day passes the tiny voice in his head telling him that maybe, just _maybe_ he might not have to search for tiny scraps of love anymore, might have found someone who can love him boldly grows stronger.

Fucking hell. He’s not heard from the guy in two weeks and he’s already picking out bloody wedding colours. He shakes the thought from his head, he needs to get a grip. If any of the rom-coms he secretly loved as a kid taught him anything it’s that a drunken shag, a fake name, some heartfelt conversations, a failed date and a shared nosedive off a bridge don’t exactly make for an epic love story.

He sighs and closes his eyes as he pads into the kitchen, sticking his fingers out to the side so they brush against the wall to guide him. Not that he needs it, he knows this house down to the foundations, every wood beam holding down a lie, each layer of cement encasing every individual disappointment Ben has caused his father. And right at the bottom of it all, buried deep, crushed by the weight and gasping for air, is Ben. Surrounded by the wide lensed glasses he used to wear, the clunky hearing aid he loved for all of two minutes because it allowed him to hear far better than any others had until his father had told him he looked like a freak. The tap shoes his gran bought him only for them to live hidden under his bed, the box tucked away behind his school PE bag.

Yes, he knows his place inside out, and wants to burn every last inch of it down to the ground.

He moves to get a beer from the fridge but changes his mind last minute and goes for the tap instead, probably the sole good decision he’s made in a very long time. The water is cold and cleansing and he feels it as it goes down, bumps through him as it passes down his throat to his stomach. A reminder that he’s alive, that his organs are fighting for him even when his mind isn’t, that he’s not as hollow as he believes he is.

Fuck it.

The beer calls to him and it would be rude not to answer. His fingers are already stretched out towards the fridge door, poised to turn his good decision into a bad one, but then he sees the shadow behind the glass of the front door and stops. He still starts when the knock comes moments later.

“Mum? What are you doing here?” He barks as he pulls the door open with a little more force than intended.

“I thought it best I was here, be a bit of an ice breaker.” She says, wringing her hands the way she does when she’s nervous, it sets Ben on edge instantly.

Ben frowns, mouth open to ask what she means but then she steps aside and all is revealed. “Jack, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Claws in Ben, I come in peace.” Jack says, hands up in mock surrender.

Ben doubts that, but moves aside to let them both in nevertheless.

Kathy makes a beeline for the kitchen, always calm in a crisis, putting the kettle on in some kind of matriarchal muscle memory and busying herself by making each of them a cup of tea. She moves around the kitchen effortlessly, never faltering in knowing where a cup or a teaspoon is; Ben’s not the only one who knows this place like the back of his hand.

Jack lingers in the doorway of the kitchen making small talk, allowing Ben a moment to escape into the front room. He’s pacing before it registers, photo frames holding reminders of a traumatic upbringing blurring into waves of colour as he spins on his heel and walks in the opposite direction. He manages to style it out as Kathy and Jack come in the room, he hopes they’re none the wiser, but experience tells him they’re not.

“How are you feeling?” Jack asks as he sits on the sofa, Kathy follows, and Ben realises why he was pacing all of ten seconds ago. Jack’s in his house, making himself at home on his sofa with a cup of tea in his hands just like he was all those weeks ago before he announced the reopening of Paul’s case. His stomach twists and bumps because he knows, _knows_ that there’s something else, that Jack’s going to release the hounds that will tear his world apart all over again.

He can’t even bare to look at his mum for more than a couple of seconds. The way she’s sipping quietly on her tea, keeping her head down and out of the conversation is too familiar, if Ben could only close his eyes and catch his scent Callum would be sat there, only feet in front of him with his shy smile and red-tipped ears and Ben would _know_. He’d know that’s he’s ok, alive and well and still wanting anything to do with him.

Ben clears his throat, reverting to what’s easy, simple, a lie. “Alright, I’m ali-“

“He’s tired, in a lot of pain,” Kathy chimes in, not keeping out of things as much as Ben predicted.

“I’m _fine._ ” He reiterates, giving him mum a stern look.

Jack looks between them and coughs awkwardly, “Davies’ trial is progressing well, the statement you gave in the hospital was really useful. Fingers crossed he’ll get sentenced very soon, maybe by the end of the day.”

“Oh, that’s quick.”

“Well it ain’t like he can claim his innocence this time, is it mum? Had half of the Met watching him.” Ben falls into the armchair, legs finally giving way beneath him, the latest part of him to give up.

His stare falls and fixes on a spot on the wall in the corner, some black scuff mark Dennis had made one time when they were messing about years ago. He’d moved the chair to cover it but somewhere down the line the chair has migrated back to its original spot, revealing it and earning him a clip round the ear from his dad even though it was Dennis’ fault. He should have known, nothing ugly stays hidden for long.

His eyes slide lower to an undamaged spot on the wall where the paintwork looks surprisingly clean and unaffected by the years’ worth of wear. Unlike the mark above it’s pure, untarnished and untouched by Ben and the damage he leaves in his path. Something stabs at his heart until he realises Jack has followed his gaze and something invisible lifts because they’re both looking at the elephant in the room. The impossibly tall, blue eyed, kind-hearted, _pure, unaffected_ elephant in the room. _Finally_ they’re on the same page.

“To be honest when I saw the police car outside, I was hoping Callum would be with you.” Kathy shatters the silence that probably wouldn’t have even registered as a silence to anyone else, but to Ben it was fragile, delicate, a wordless ode to Callum.

“Yeah, well, you know how it is with the investigation, its best he keeps his distance.” Jack says briskly, his eyes on Ben.

Ben raises his eyebrows in response, keeping his gaze fixed religiously on the spot between the curtain and the fireplace that he’s deemed as the only safe space in the room.

“How is he?” Kathy asks and Ben drops his head but not his eyes.

“He’s ok. Like Ben he went through it a bit but he’s getting there.”

“No thanks to you.” Ben’s voice grates, rough like the pieces of gravel in Callum’s cheek on the bridge.

“No. You’re right. I should’ve listened to you.”

Ben watches him, eyes so narrowed he can barely see. Jack stares back and he sees it; remorse. It’s fleeting and hidden behind infinite layers of pride and an ego that would put Ben’s to shame, but it’s there. Ben nods once, Jack returning the gesture stiffly, and Kathy looks between then half amazed, half ready to jump into action if fists start flying. Although with Ben as her son that’s probably something she’s always prepared for.

“Right, well, I’ll be off then.” Jack announces, standing before Kathy can ask him to stay out of politeness more than anything.

Ben’s on his feet before he realises why, hot on Jack’s tail. Jack pauses at the door like he’s waiting for something, Ben to reveal why he followed him maybe. Well, he’s not the only one.

Jack waits, expectant and Ben breaks first, surprising himself at what comes out. “Is that really all you came here for? To check in?”

“Yeah, I ain’t an arse all the time you know.”

Ben exhales a sound that he can thankfully pass off as a laugh to an untrained ear. In reality though it’s months, _years_ ’ worth of relief rushing out of him and he feels a little lightheaded. “Is he really gonna be put away?”

“Yeah. For a long time too, I promise.” Ben nods. “Look, I know it probably don’t mean much to ya, but you have my word Ben.”

He nods again because he can’t trust himself to speak. Not when the truth is that there was a time where Jack’s word did mean something, a lifetime ago when he was sat at the table at Christmas holding Ronnie’s hand and laughing with tacky paper crowns balanced on their heads and the people that shared Ben’s surname resembled something akin to a family. While too much time may have passed, time filled with too many things to be simply forgiven and forgotten, Ben can’t deny that there was a point in time that he trusted Jack Branning, and in this moment he holds onto it. He has to.

“Oh, and Ben?” Jack turns with a hint of a knowing smile, “it’s been a right headache tryna keep Callum away from you.”

Mercifully, Ben is too shocked to react before Jack is out the door, closing it firmly behind him. Ben half leans half falls against the sideboard, excitement knotting itself in his belly and his cheeks already aching from a beaming smile he hasn’t worn in a lifetime. He had a feeling Jack would say something momentous, and he did, just not in the way Ben expected.

“Love, what did he say?” Kathy asks from the front room doorway, her eyes soundlessly probing him for anything he can give her. God, this is why he came to this godforsaken house in the first place- to get away from her.

“I’m going to bed” he mumbles before turning on his heel and is halfway up the stairs with a newfound spring in his step before she can think of anything to say.

Ben pulls the duvet higher over his shoulders as the room comes into focus, he left his contacts in and his eyes sting but its ok, he can handle that kind of pain. He’s used to it; harnessed it as a way to survive the harshest of days and bleakest of nights. His phone screen blinds him while his eyes adjust, _19:24_. Great, he’s not sure if he got any actual sleep but at least he killed the afternoon. His eyes fall to the thin curtain covering his window, the light is fading fast outside and casts a grey din in the room that’s more disorientating than full darkness. He’s always hated dawn and dusk, the murkiness and uncertainty, the transient state of being trapped between two worlds that even now Ben finds a little too close for comfort.

He hears some tinny laugh track coming from downstairs and sighs, his mum hasn’t given up and gone home yet. He stands to get dressed, ignoring the sling that’s staring at him from the floor that he should technically still be wearing but it was pissing him off so he binned it a couple of days ago. He unzips his jumper and somehow manages to slip it off his shoulders, catching a glimpse of the dressing on his shoulder blade in the mirror. He feels his mind poised in the starting blocks, ready to run away from him so he runs his fingers over the dressing, pressing a little harder where he feels the bump in the inflamed flesh because in some twisted fate this is what he needs to do to finally get some peace.

He pushes a little too hard, though, and his shoulder aches and stings, and for the first time in a long time he recognises that he’s gone too far. Instead of pushing more, tipping the balance way out of his favour, he goes to the only other place he can get lost in the deepest darkest recesses of his mind and not have to worry about ever being found. He could almost laugh when he twists the tap on, this is the moment in the rom-com where the arsehole love interest sees the light, chooses the ‘right’ path, the change in his ways brought about by undying love or terrible anguish or both.

The water scolds as it plummets down his body but he doesn’t care, he could turn on the cold tap but what’s the point in having a shower if your skin isn’t burning red afterwards? He reaches blindly for the nearest bottle of soap and lathers it on and when his doctor asks he’ll lie and say he’s being careful about not getting water on his wound. The soap is flowery and pungent, probably left over from Sharon or Louise that won’t do much in the way of cleaning but Ben gave up on the notion of ever being clean a long time ago.

For a while he stands motionless, watching the water as it trickles down his body splashes into the bath, it's reception muted to his naked ears. He’d stay here forever if he could, lost in the same thoughts that somehow don’t feel as overwhelming here, treading water instead of sinking. But the room is heavy with steam that swirls around him and it doesn’t penetrate the same, each breath a little more laboured than usual, the deepest pockets of his lungs screaming out for oxygen, so he turns off the shower and goes about getting dry.

His hearing aid whistles as he places it back in his ear, a mechanical whine that sounds suspiciously like _it’s been a right headache tryna keep Callum away from you_ and it sounds so real but it can’t be. He dreamt that. He must have.

His vision blurs momentarily as he slips his glasses on, senses readjusting, balancing to find his unique normal. He glances at a t-shirt on his chair before deciding against trying to get it on and instead manages to pull on some jogging bottoms and towel off his air a little more before it happens. The moment he’s been aching for and terrified to have because now whatever comes after is real, exposed, no longer protected in a perfect fantasy for him to find escape in.

Ben feels his eyes on him before he sees him. It’s like the primal sixth sense everyone has when they’re being watched, a hangover from a time when life was kill or be killed but _more._ Everything is more with Callum.

“Hi” Callum’s voice is small and croaky, like he hasn’t used it much in days and a small part of Ben is jealous he’s not had to explain his every move to an overbearing family.

A fire fuelled by something ugly ignites in him. A knot of nervous energy strangles his insides, makes it hard to breathe because in that second every time Ben has checked his phone in the last couple of weeks to be greeted by an absence of Callum’s name, every knock on the door that’s not been him flashes through his mind and that anger that has been growing returns. He breathes deep because he knows this isn’t fair, knows he needs to get a grip, stifle this irrational wrath he’s whipped up in his head.

When he turns, _finally_ looks to see the eyes he’s been dreaming of, the sunshine smile he’s missed bathing in the warmth of, he wishes he hadn’t. Longs for a time or place where he could unsee the darkened shadows and pale yellow remnants of bruises along his cheekbones and jaw and the numerous little scabs dotted on his skin. _From the gravel_ Ben’s brain supplies before he can tell it to shut the fuck up.

“Hi” he breathes, winded by the sight of him, his presence. As Callum moves and Ben gets a look at his neck, nausea sinks heavy like a stone in his gut at the sight of finger shaped bruises on the fragile skin there.

_That fucking bastard._

Ben had almost forgotten that Davies had already had Callum for a while before the bridge, and it looks like he made his mark in that time. The thought of Davies’ hands, his fists on another person Ben cares about makes his skin crawl, the thought alone of the suffering he wants to inflict on him is enough to put Ben away for life. Maybe kill or be killed isn’t as in the past as everyone makes it out to be.

“Look I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you sooner.” Callum sounds so hesitant, so worried about Ben’s reaction that any anger he had left for this man after seeing him is obliterated, a sandcastle in a tsunami. “I just… well I couldn’t move much for the first few days and to be honest I didn’t know what to say, then Jack told me I should probably stay away because of the trial and it was an excuse, you know? I kept going on to him though, asking how you were, when I’d be able to see ya.” Callum pauses, looking at Ben with a small smile that if was brave enough he’d call smitten.

“It’s just.. what you did for me Ben, coming up on that bridge… facing Davies, I can’t-“

“You got shot.” Ben’s ears prick up at the sound of his own voice, he wasn’t aware of what he was going to say- or that he was going to speak at all- until the words were already out. He just needed Callum to stop talking, stop any kind of ‘thank you’ in its tracks because that’s the last thing he deserves.

“What?”

“You got shot, you were bleeding onto me. On the.. after we--” A shiver runs down Ben’s spine as he recalls the heat of Callum’s blood as it dripped onto him, how it dried sticky and lived under his fingernails for days.

“It was a graze.” Callum shrugs.

“Spoken like a true ex-soldier” Ben exhales on a hollow laugh.

“Ben, you fell 15 feet.”

“Twelve foot six.”

“What?” Ben shakes his head, it doesn’t matter.

“Well, however high it was I’m sure you could’ve done without me falling on top of ya” Callum laughs.

“Ain’t the first time, with any luck it won’t be the last either.”

“Ben, be serious.”

He bites back _I am_ because he doesn’t think it will go down too well, maybe he is learning after all.

“What’s the damage?” Ben asks because somehow it feels easier than _how are you?_

“Ah, you know, the graze-“

“-bullet wound”

Callum gives him a look and Ben relents, outwardly at least. “A lot of bruising as you can probably see, bruised ribs, bit of a concussion but that’s mostly gone now, thank god. Don’t think my brother could handle me being any dimmer.”

Ben laughs despite himself. Stuart being the smarter one, now that _is_ an image. 

“How are you?” Callum asks because he can but for some reason it catches Ben off guard, fuck knows why, it’s the most obvious thing for a normal person to say.

“..Alright. Like you a lot of bruising and all that, some internal bleeding but they sorted that in the hospital. Apparently I was lucky to avoid a serious head injury, or so the doctors kept telling me and ‘course me mum started repeating it like a bloody parrot to anyone who’d listen. Oh, and err, got a couple of pins in my shoulder”

Callum gapes at him, moving closer on impulse, staring at his shoulder like he’s trying to develop x-ray vision. “Relax, I’m hardly the bionic man. It’s just holding my shoulder blade together. Tell ya what though, going through an airport scanner is gonna be fun.”

Callum laughs exasperated, “you’re a nightmare.”

“Well yeah, obviously, but I’m your nightmare.” Fuck.

It slipped out undetected and he’s about to reel it back in somehow but then there it is; the brightest smile that warms and calms. A solar flare dazzling enough to light even the dark side of the moon.

“How are you?” Callum asks, his voice just above a whisper but it’s all he needs because suddenly he’s _so close_.

“I told ya, my shoulder—”

“No, Ben I meant how are _you?_ After everything? These last couple of months must’ve been hell.”

It hits him with a weight he wasn’t expecting and his throat feels like sandpaper. He casts his eyes around the room scanning his desk and bedside table for a glass of water with no luck. With the way Callum’s looking at him though water wouldn’t touch it, he needs a clear liquid of a different kind.

Eventually he manages to grind it out, one word. One syllable. “Yeah.” He swallows the lump in his throat and adds probably the most honest thing he’s said since the moon shone through Callum’s ears in the park. “Had someone around who’s made it a bit easier though.”

Ben’s not sure of it’s the remnants of the concussion or the fact that Callum is just that oblivious to the effect he has on people, on Ben, but he looks utterly baffled for a moment, until the penny drops. Ben can barely suppress his smile as he watches the cogs turn in Callum’s brain as it dawns on him that _he_ is that person.

“Nah.. nah you don’t mean that.”

“Yeah, I do.” Callum smiles, a little less bright and a little more hesitantly than before, and even though he’s looking anywhere _but_ Ben, he can see the doubt in his eyes. God, he wants, _needs_ to rid Callum of any doubt about what he means to him, that he _deserves_ this, but he doesn’t know how. Maybe if he did they wouldn’t be stood here, two bodies crumbled and glued back together.

He’s about to move, close the small gap that remains between them, his muscles in that state where the message has been sent but not fully received, limbs buzzing with energy not yet used when Callum’s phone buzzes loudly in his pocket. It vibrates against his keys, sending shockwaves through the still air and stopping Ben from doing something stupid, probably.

“Ah, it’s my brother.” He says reading his text, “sorry, I should probably get going.”

An awkwardness shoots through the air between them, a stillness where they both want to move closer but remain rooted to the spot. Callum settles on bringing a hand to Ben’s face and he leans into the touch before he can stop himself, just a simple touch is all it takes for him to come undone.

After a few moments Ben feels the pressure of Callum’s touch lessen and the words spill out on impulse. “I feel better.”

“Hm?”

“Sorry, it’s just.. you asked me how I felt and I feel better... About Paul.”

It’s been on the tip of his tongue since he had been able to start processing seeing Davies again, but he’d be damned he if let himself verbalise it. He can barely bring himself to even think about it because this the biggest sense of closure he’s had regarding Paul’s death and that in itself is hard to sit with. It’s more than he ever imagined he would get and he hopes there’s more to come and prays there isn’t at the same time.

“That’s good, Ben. That’s really good” Callum says softly, fingers gently stroking his hair and Ben exhales a _yeah_ because of all the million things it is good is one of them. He knows in his heart that moving on isn’t forgetting, but it feels like it sometimes.

“I dunno, it’s just something about seeing Davies, seeing how he didn’t care about Paul and that nothing was gonna make him care. I guess it made me realise that there was nothing I could’ve done that night to save him.. That the moment Davies and his mates laid eyes on us Paul’s fate was sealed.” His eyes sting with the tears that are forming, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep the last sentence in because he knows what is coming. He feels a shake in his chest and maybe it’s the force of holding it in or maybe it’s the foundations of his world quaking, preparing, bracing for something so momentous.

“There was nothing I could have done. It wasn’t my fault.”

Silence.

Nothing moves. Not the air around him or the tear that’s clouding his vision, not yet spilling over. Not even his chest where he’s holding his breath, it’s not a conscious thing, more that he’s _not breathing._

Callum pauses, watching Ben transfixed yet entirely present, giving him this time, this space to do whatever he needs to do with it.

“It wasn’t my fau—” the rest of the word is muffled against Callum’s chest where Ben falls into him, arms catching him instantly, wrapping around him and holding him up, holding him together.

He expects to break down in an epic shoulder heaving can’t-catch-my-breath ugly cry but it doesn’t come. Instead, they stand there for a long time, bodies pressed together, Ben’s arms wrapped tightly around Callum’s waist, face buried in his chest. Callum’s hands tell a tale of two halves; one scratching softly in the prickly hairs at the back of Ben’s head, the other drawing circles on the bare skin of his lower back that sends tingles through him.

When the world starts to feel a little more real again Ben becomes aware of the damp patch on Callum’s shirt and the moistness on his cheek. Silent tears were falling the entire time, mocking any expectation of the notion of having some big epiphany and that suddenly you’re healed and the red light is turning amber and everything is ok when the reality is that sometimes healing is an anti-climax. Sometimes it builds up and up and you want to break down and scream and shout and exorcize all the hurt that has ever inhabited your heart, you think you _need_ that but sometimes that’s not the way.

Sometimes its pumping years and years of pain and work and tears into something that may or may not ever happen. Sometimes it’s as simple and earth shattering as the realisation that this thing that you’re searching for, begging for, putting the rest of your life on hold for may remain out of reach forever.

But sometimes, for the lucky ones, healing is realising one day that the things that used to rip you apart don’t hurt so much anymore, that the things that used to paralyse you don’t seem so impossible as they once did. Sometimes healing is as simple and momentous as feeling like you’re in the green again, just for a moment. And this is Ben’s moment.

“Do you wanna come to Portugal?” It’s more of a thought out loud than a question but he doesn’t mind, he means it.

Callum’s fingers freeze the second the words hit his ears, and Ben feels his body tense against his own. “What?”

“Portugal. We’re taking Lex in the summer; she keeps banging on about how she’s never been and that it somehow means we don’t love her.”

“God, she is yours ain’t she.”

“Oh yeah, right chip off the old block. Come on then, what d’ya say? Up for sun, sex and speedos?”

It shouldn’t feel this easy, asking Callum to go away with him and his family months from now, making an admittedly half-hearted joke after the weight that last ten or so minutes held but it does. Callum makes these things easy.

“Oh god, in that case definitely not.” Callum jokes, his voice too high for it not to be edged with nerves.

“Callum..”

“I want to. It’s just.. going on holiday with your family? They don’t really know me.”

“Well it’s not like it’s tomorrow is it? And you know Jay, Lo practically wants to marry ya and Lexi adores you already.”

“…Really?”

“Really.”

The tiny smile on Callum’s lips grows and he goes to speak but Ben silences him with a hand to his chest, “they really like ya Callum. So do I.” Callum holds him in a way that tells Ben all he needs to know, and he’s pulled in, a moth to the flame.

Maybe he should be freaking out that he’s making plans with Callum for three months’ time but he’s not. He can’t bring himself to think of anything when Callum’s lips are pressed firm and moving against his and his hand is clamped tight at Ben’s waist and once again he’s surrounded and surrendering.

Ben is powerless when Callum drives them backwards and Ben’s knees give way then they hit the mattress, falling backwards. He grips at Callum’s shirt and barely has the time to finish the thought of _fuck this is gonna hurt_ before Callum’s hands are there, holding him strong, lowering him gently and cradling his head so he doesn’t fall on his shoulder. Fuck.

Callum hovers above him, knees straddling his thighs and one arm propping himself up while the other still holds Ben’s head, fingers twisting in his hair. Callum breaks the kiss but stays close, lingers in this space they’ve created that’s an indefinable mix of electricity and tenderness that reads impossible on paper but here it feels like the only state that exists.

Ben kisses him again, overcome and overwhelmed. Any concern that he’s ruined a special moment gone when Callum’s body sinks lower and lower with every slide of their tongues, melting into him, becoming one.

The weight of Callum’s body against his is a drug infinitely stronger than anything they pumped him with in the hospital and fuck, he’s addicted already. His fingers roam Callum’s body, finding his arm and bumping over the mound of Callum’s tricep. He feels how Callum’s breath catches against his chest, notices the shake in his arm from the effort of holding himself up, keeping the weight of his upper body off Ben to protect him when all he wants to do is sink into him.

But Ben doesn’t need protecting, not here, not in Callum’s arms. Sure he’s been through a lot but they both have, this shared experience just another invisible line that connects them, dots that Ben thinks may have been started to be joined long before the night they met six weeks ago.

Ben turns slowly, bringing Callum with him so they’re laying on their sides, nose to nose and takes a moment to look at him, stare unashamedly because he’s here, _they’re_ here, face to face, so close he can see the tacky shine of sweat at Callum’s hairline. This closeness, this intimacy is the thing they both craved so desperately the night they met that Ben so cruelly denied them of and he makes a silent vow to never deny either of them anything ever again.

Callum stares back sharp and defiant, searching Ben for something he’s convinced Callum has already found, reckons Callum knows all there is to know about him, deciphered, decoded. From the way he’s looking at him right now Callum could probably write a book about him, truths unknown even to Ben woven into the pages, embedded in the ink. It’s terrifying, yes, but there’s comfort in knowing that Ben doesn’t have to figure all this out, all of _himself_ out alone anymore.

The inches between them fade to centimetres, centimetres to millimetres to nothing as their lips touch. A gentle press followed by another to the corner of Callum’s mouth, another to his jaw, his eyebrow, the tip of his nose until Callum grows frustrated and lunges forward, biting Ben’s lip into the kind of kiss that flips a switch, leaves you breathless and gasping, dazed and electrified, fingers reaching blindly for skin to claim.

They kiss like they don’t have tomorrow, even though they both know they do, can feel it in their bones that they have all the tomorrows in the world. Callum’s free hand roams down Ben’s back, skirting along the waistband of his joggers until bravery or desire or maybe something else entirely makes him slip his hand inside. Ben waits and it happens on cue, the impossibly high pitched “oh” that escapes Callum when he realises Ben’s not wearing any underwear.

“Guess I was ready for ya” he mumbles against Callum’s lips and they both break out into a giggle. There’s something indescribable about the feeling of smiling into someone’s lips and feeling it returned against your own. A nameless emotion that evades all logic and meaning, all Ben knows is that its intimacy transcends anything he’s ever experienced, and he wants to feel it every day he’s alive.

Callum’s fingers press into Ben’s neck, guiding him as he trails his mouth down Callum’s neck, glides his tongue along the stubble, noses against his jaw. He feels the vibrations in Callum’s throat before he processes the words as they breathlessly spill from Callum’s swollen lips, “Ben, wait. Stop a sec.”

Ben blows out a long sigh, mentally cycling through his reserve of inappropriate quips but can’t quite find one to match _this._ It’s a good job, too, because when he lifts his gaze to Callum his head is pressed hard back into the pillow and his eyes are scrunched up and blinking, breathing shallow and fast.

Ben moves up so they’re face to face and slides his nose against Callum’s whispering a soft “hey, you ok?”

Callum nods weakly and presses their foreheads together, his body relaxes and he breathes deeper than before. “Sorry- I just.. need a minute.”

“Take all the time you need.” Ben murmurs and Callum nods again, a little stronger this time. 

“Thanks,” Callum says when he’s looking a little more lucid, “I err.. I’m not sure I’m in shape for this just yet.”

“You look pretty in shape to me” Ben smirks, nodding towards the growing bulge in his trousers.

“Uhh—” Callum’s ears flame red, god he’s adorable.

“I’m joking babe,” Ben assures, pressing a light kiss to Callum’s forehead before laying down beside him. Admittedly, he’s pretty knackered too, and his shoulder is aching, maybe holding off was a good call.

“Sorry.” Callum whispers to the ceiling.

“Don’t apologise.”

“I just want it to be special, you know? Our second first time.” Ben laughs, “and it won’t be if I’m feeling like I’m gonna pass out every five seconds.”

“Dating an older guy, I was kinda expecting it to be honest.”

“Shut up,” Callum laughs, jabbing Ben in the side.

They fall into a quiet somewhere between silence and peace, fingers spreading until they find each other, come to rest when they’re intertwined.

“I ain’t imagining it, am I?”

“What?”

“This. Us. We have something.”

When Ben turns to him Callum is still looking up at the ceiling, there’s tension in his jaw that eases a little when Ben squeezes his hand and his eyes clear when he looks at Ben.

“Yeah, we have something.”

Callum smiles, small yet radiant and the darkness that troubled Ben before doesn’t seem so threatening anymore. Callum nods and bit of soft hair falls into his face, Ben’s hand this there to brush it away so fast he almost catches it, Callum leaning into his touch and inhaling deep. Ben fleetingly wonders if in years to come when he looks back on his life if he will pinpoint this as it; the moment he fell in love.

“Why don’t we get some sleep?” Callum releases on the outbreath and Ben had forgotten that words existed but he also can’t think of anything he wants to do more as he nestles against Callum’s chest and closes his eyes. 

Callum’s breathing has slowed to a speed that teeters on the edge of sleeping and waking, the finger that was drawing patterns on Ben’s arm long since fallen still at his side. Ben can feel himself drifting off too, the fringes of the day blurring into night when his phone vibrates loudly on the bedside table, rumbling against the flimsy IKEA particleboard. 

Ben barely stirs, but Callum jolts beneath him, threatening the peace. Ben nuzzles deeper into his chest and Callum’s fingers come up to brush at his neck, it’s relaxing for all of the three seconds Ben allows it to be until he realises it’s a _wake up_ brush and not an _I’m here_ one and he’s wide awake in an instant.

Whatever train of thought Ben was on, it’s gone. He can’t remember what it was, but it was mindless and idyllic and he misses it already as it leaves the station. The phone buzzes again and Ben still refuses to care, it’s funny how easy it is to ignore your phone when you’re in the arms of the only person you want to hear from. He bites his lip to keep from smiling, he owes Louise a fiver.

“You gonna check that? It’s gone off a few times, might be important?” Callum’s voice is sleepy and soft, but it still makes the air around them explode. Like creeping through a house when everyone’s asleep, each step silent and blaring. 

Ben groans, swinging his arm backwards dramatically and feeling around the table for his phone. He blows out a sigh as his eyes adjust to the bright screen, agitated that he can no longer be blissfully unaware of anything that’s not the warmth of Callum’s skin or the steady thud of his heart. But outside these walls he has responsibilities; Lexi and his businesses to name a few, and Callum’s right, the message might be important.

When his eyes focus on Jack’s name he’s perplexed until he remembers.

_Fingers crossed he’ll get sentenced very soon, maybe by the end of the day._

He’d forgotten. How the fuck had he forgotten _that_? Callum’s arm tightens around him, pulling him closer. _That’s how._

His pulse races and the words on the screen blur, the brightness suddenly too much for his eyes to cope with. His mouth dries out and his heart races, he’s frozen in Callum’s arms until the screen goes dark and his finger taps it instantly, reilluminating the message, reigniting his dread.

A battle between _he’ll go free, he’ll get away with it again_ and _you have my word Ben_ is raging in his mind, and he’s powerless to do anything but watch it unfold in slow motion.

He looks to Callum who is now looking at his own phone, his brow furrows and relaxes as his eyes rapidly move across the screen.

“23 years.” If him speaking earlier was an explosion, this is a nuclear bomb.

Ben tries to speak but he’s too stunned to formulate words so he nods instead.

“How do you feel about that?”

Ben swallows the massive lump in his throat, “I—I dunno.” His voice is croaky so he clears his throat and is grateful when he sounds a little more human when he speaks again. “The only thing I can think right now is that Paul got a hell of a lot more than 23 years taken from him. He wasn’t even that old when he died.” Callum hums, solemn.

“But, it’s something. He’s finally gonna pay for what he did” he can’t believe he’s saying those words, can’t believe that after all this time they’re finally true. It doesn’t feel real, he’s laying in Callum’s arms and Davies is going down and none of this can be real.

But it is real.

“It’s all because of you.”

“Oh, no Ben I didn’t do anything really.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t. Probably the most useful thing I did was drive his sentence up a bit when he chucked me in the boot of his car.” Ben sighs, resigned to the fact that Callum will never truly understand what he’s done for him, but dedicated to telling him every day for as long as he can anyway.

“Ben, it’s done, he’s gonna pay. You kept your promise.” There are tears in his eyes before he can stop them. A million thoughts flood his head, a horde of emotions hammer mercilessly against the walls of his heart. He doesn’t know if he’s feeling this way because Callum is right, or because he remembered something Ben whispered to him in the void of the stale air of the room of rest all those weeks ago, actually listened to him, heard what he had to say to bring it back to him in love, not hate or mockery.

Callum brings his hand to Ben’s cheek and his eyes close on impulse, no guard, no hesitance, only peace. “How about we get that sleep now? Hm?” Callum’s thumb brushes over Ben’s eyelid, lulling him further into a sleep he’s ready to welcome with open arms.

Callum tucks him closer into the warmth of his body and he’s weightless, _finally,_ in Callum’s arms, the only things he’s aware of being the steady puffs of Callum’s warm breath on he shell of his ear and beginnings of a familiar storm whipping up in his belly that he’s felt only once before as he falls asleep.

**Three months later**

“DADDY COME ON THEY’RE GOING TO LEAVE WITHOUT US!” Ben flinches at the sound of his daughter screaming at the top of her little lungs as the fluorescent letters spelling **Departures** sting his bloodshot eyes.

In hindsight, telling her the plane would leave without them if she overslept because she wouldn’t go to bed at eight last night was probably a mistake, because she’s been hassling all of them from the moment she opened her eyes this morning, terrified of missing the plane. But Ben was tired and still had a mountain of packing to do; he’s still not used to this whole ‘preparing in advance for a trip because you’re not going on the run at the drop of a hat’ stuff, and quite frankly, that takes some adjustment. At least, that’s what he’d told Callum when he had half passed out after _finally_ getting Lexi to bed and Callum ended up packing for him in a huff at midnight.

“Ugh, too loud baby” he groans but it’s drowned out by more of Lexi’s high-pitched incoherent babbling. For the briefest moment Ben considers adjusting his hearing aid, just to get a little quiet, but then he catches sight of his little girl, the way her ridiculously massive sunhat wobbles on her head as she practically vibrates on the spot and pushes her bright pink sunglasses back up her nose where they have slipped down and his heart melts. It’s 4am and still pitch black out and there’s no way she can see a bloody thing with them on but she’s wearing them anyway. Her birth certificate may say Pearce but at times like this Ben is reminded that she’s a Mitchell through and through.

An equally knackered Jay sends the taxi driver an apologetic look, Lexi’s been buzzing the entire hour’s drive and it was doing all their heads in. According to Lola the flights from Heathrow were cheaper but in all honesty he’d have paid an extra couple of hundred quid to not have to have woken up at half two and not have a raging headache but oh well, look after the pennies and all that.

Ben joins his brother, a sympathetic grunt to the driver as he slips him another tenner, something that just about brings something that kind of resembles a smile to his face before he drives off a little faster than necessary.

He feels Lola drop her head against his shoulder, her hand gripping at his arm as she looks up to him weakly like a woman on death’s door as she whispers “Need. Coffee.” Ben nods, mouthing a _yeah_ because he’s not sure his head can take another sound without exploding.

Speaking of, Lexi’s gone quiet, and that usually only means something bad. Panic doesn’t have time to set it because he turns to see Lexi kneeling at the front of a luggage trolley, hands out at her sides like in Titanic and Callum behind, pushing the trolley with one of the biggest grins Ben has ever seen on his face.

“In hindsight, we probably could’ve paid for two kids tickets.” Lola scoffs and Ben just smiles because god, how did he get so lucky?

The three of them must look like zombies as they trudge towards the check in desk, Callum and Lexi are riding up front, and every now and then Callum shoots Ben a dazzling smile over his shoulder that makes him feel more awake and alive than he ever thought possible. Ben watches on with a warmth spreading through his chest at the sight of his daughter and boyfriend having the time of their lives, Lexi squealing with delight every time Callum takes a few running steps and jumps onto the trolley with her, flying through a sea of exhausted and disapproving faces of their fellow early morning travellers. Well, fuck them.

A total of seven coffees, walking through the airport carrying Lexi’s pink backpack when she got bored of holding it herself and the nightmare of going through security later, they’re sat at the gate. Ben is feeling a little more human but is still slightly bitter that setting off the security scanner was less fun than he imagined, the guard either too tired or too bored from seeing it all before to care, waving Ben through almost instantly.

He’s returning from getting his third coffee in as many hours when he spots Lexi sleeping in her holiday getup, hat draped over her face looking every bit the diva she is. Her head rests on Lola’s lap and Lola’s hangs on Jay’s shoulder, who is occupied scrolling through his phone, pausing every few seconds to smile or frown at something.

Ben pauses, watching how well they fit together, slotting in place like a jigsaw, the golden hair poking out from under Lexi’s hat looking like a perfect mix of Lola and Jay’s blonde tones, not his own brown. Lexi shifts and it feeds up to Lola, who nuzzles closer into Jay as he presses a kiss to her hair. They look picture perfect, a proper family, and Ben’s nowhere to be seen.

He’s about to fall into a tailspin when long fingers intertwine with his own.

“Sweet, ain’t they?” Callum says carefully, pressing in close to Ben’s side.

“Yeah.”

“She’s yours Ben. She’ll always be yours.”

Ben tears his eyes from the picture-perfect family in front of him to stare wide eyed at his boyfriend. _Fuck, how did Callum know he needed to hear that?_

“You all set?” Ben asks, swallowing the lump in his throat and changing the subject.

“Yeah.. just, gotta get there first.”

“What d’ya mean?”

Callum frowns, looking down at the floor, sheepish, looking away from Ben for probably the longest time he has since they woke up at stupid o’clock this morning. “Well, I haven’t really flown before. Bit nervous.”

“Weren’t you stationed in Afghanistan? Walk there, did ya?”

“No” he laughs, “that was different. It was a big army plane this.. this is..”

“What?”

“Dunno. Real I guess?”

“…and going to war wasn’t?” Ben probes, perplexed.

“No I didn’t mean that, I just-- I was hiding then. I’m not hiding now.”

Oh.

Ben can’t think of anything to say that would even come close to following that and Callum deserves better so instead he brings their intertwined fingers to his lips, squeezing Callum’s hand before kissing it gently and pressing it against his cheek. He can almost feel the tension leave Callum as he blushes, soft and blinding and it puts the rising sun to shame.

“I love it when you hold my hand.” Callum whispers.

“I love holding your hand.” _I love you_. “I’ll hold your hand for takeoff, how about that?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Callum says quietly, beaming so bright he could cause a solar storm.

Their hands stay locked together as they make their way back to the others. Ben sits in the seat next to Lexi and she stirs, like she’s got a radar for when he’s near and rests her head on his lap instead of Lola’s before settling back into sleep. She lets out a little contented sigh and it goes straight to Ben’s heart, enveloping it in love of the purest kind. Ben’s thumb draws circles on her tiny shoulder, and it takes him a few moments to realise he’s doing it in sync with the circles Callum is tracing on his other hand.

Maybe this is his family after all.

He’s never had this. A feeling of belonging so strong that he has no choice but to surrender to it, love every second of it, not be questioning it or counting down the seconds until it all gets ripped away from him. As a kid he didn’t know it existed, being thrown from one volatile situation to another didn’t exactly set him up for a life of domestic bliss. With Paul he got a taste of it, dreamt of a life full of it, but now he can’t imagine life any other way. 

His head is heavy on Callum’s shoulder and must have been dozing off because he starts when a sickly sweet voice comes over the tannoy telling them their flight is finally boarding. He cracks an eye open to see a swarm of people rush over to the desk and form a queue much longer than his patience and reminds himself that he’s already got a criminal record.

He looks up to Callum who returns his gaze with a quiet smile. He’s breathing slow and deep like maybe he found the same serenity in the middle of Heathrow airport with Ben as Ben found with him. Maybe it’s the holiday brain talking or maybe it’s how the sun rays are shining through the massive window and catching on the blonde tips of Callum’s eyelashes or maybe it’s just the truth, but Callum has never looked more beautiful than in this moment. His hair is almost free of product and there’s a day’s worth of stubble lining his jaw and god, his eyes are shining brighter than even the brightest stars that can be seen in the murky London sky. 

Callum nods carefully, answering the question Ben didn’t even need to ask _again_ and tension Ben didn’t even know had set in at the announcement leaves him.

_Five more minutes it is then._

Lexi stirs in the way she does before she wakes up and Ben knows they’re on borrowed time until she’s fully awake and recharged, diva mode firmly reengaged. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back onto Callum, who’s head finds it’s own resting spot on top of his, and soaks up the last remaining seconds of _this._

It’s this moment, right here, this moment of peace and stillness that Ben never imagined he would have, yet he’s had more than he can count in these last few months, and he has a feeling there will be more to come. With every day that passes he’s more certain that Callum is his future, he feels in in every part of him, a certainty that he’s never felt before. As exciting (and terrifying) as that is, with it comes the realisation that Paul wasn’t. That even if he was still alive he wasn’t Ben’s forever, that Ben would have messed it up or maybe they simply would have drifted apart if they were lucky; and while some comfort lies in that, letting go of a long-held dream is hard even if you’re on your way to something better, someone put on this earth especially for you.

Callum’s leg comes to rest as Ben places a hand on his thigh, it’s been bouncing restlessly ever since he sat down on the plane. “Babe,” Ben says, rubbing his thumb back and forth but Callum is preoccupied, transfixed on watching the cabin crew talk through the safety announcements.

“Ya know, Lex is sat with Jay and Lo, so if you wanna join the mile-high club, now’s your chance.” Ben says sultrily in his ear.

“What? No, Ben! Shh, I don’t wanna miss anything,” Callum snaps, straining to see the flight attendant demonstrate how to put a life jacket on from his window seat and Ben huffs away his disappointment. He pulls the card with the safety instructions out of the pocket of the seat in front and places it in Callum’s hand with a smug flourish.

“There you go.”

“Oh,” Callum stares at the card, before breaking out into a childish smile and waving it at Ben like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen. Ben’s heart swells in his chest because he thinks _this_ might be the best thing he’s ever seen.

The man next to Ben snores loudly, dragging him kicking and screaming away from watching his boyfriend being adorable. He notices a tuna sandwich has fallen out of the guy’s bag at his feet and kicks the box under the seat in front, he’s not having a repeat of that.

The floor of the plane rumbles as the engines kick in, causing Callum’s eyes to fly to the tiny window, turning back to Ben with a panicked look when he sees they’re lined up on the runway.

“Don’t worry babe, I’ve got you.” Ben soothes, trailing his hand from Callum’s cheek to his hand and interlacing their fingers, keeping his promise.

Callum settles back into his seat, physically relaxing as he squeezes Ben’s hand tight. The plane gathers speed and Callum squeezes harder, so Ben brings their hands up to his lips again, his eyes fixed on Callum’s the whole time and a hint of a cocky smile on his lips and kisses his fingers one by one.

Callum buries his head in Ben’s shoulder at the same time his thumb ghosts over the pulse point in Ben’s wrist, and his stomach lurches and heart settles. Callum seems to change his mind though, and alternates between hiding in the crook of Ben’s neck and staring wide-eyed out the window, unsure if he wants to ignore what’s happening or soak up every second of it and Ben almost misses takeoff because he’s so busy watching him. The way his head snaps between the window and Ben, the beam on his lips and in his cheeks and illuminating his eyes growing brighter by the second. He can’t help it; they may only be going away for a couple of weeks, but this feels like the start of forever.

Suddenly Callum gasps and squeezes Ben’s hand so hard he has to bite his lip to stop him from crying out to a plane full of people and follows Callum’s eyes to the window.

Of all the times he’s done this, watched the world disappear beneath him he’s always felt like he’s still on the ground. Weighed down by crushing fear and dread, the uncertainty of not knowing if or when he would see his family or walk the grimy streets of East London again.

But now he’s here, and he has his family with him. He can hear Lexi’s giggles of amazement from a few rows behind and Callum’s thumb is rubbing circles on the back of his hand, his fingers fallen into a gentle rhythm of periodically squeezing Ben's hand not out of fear but of habit, of just _being_ , a sign of the energy that flows so freely between them.

It dawns on him as he watches Callum that for once he’s not running away, and he’s not running towards anything either, not being weighed down or propelled forwards because everything he wants is right here. He takes a deep breath as the streets of London and the Square and everything it holds grow smaller and smaller beneath him, and for the first time Ben truly feels free. 


End file.
